


There's Someone in Your Head Waiting to Fucking Strangle You

by dark_def (dedicatedfollower467)



Series: Smells Like Belonging [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Attempted Murder, BUT that's not true of the whole series so just hold on it will get better for everybody, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon Temporary Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Crushes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Families of Choice, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Friendship, Frottage, Gen, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, I realized I should probably tag that because THIS fic will have a sad ending, Identity Issues, Internalized Homophobia, Intrusive Thoughts, Kissing, Light Masochism, Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Sad Ending, Scent Marking, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Stalking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Tags May Change, Temporary Character Death, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Trickster Mode (Homestuck), deep-throating, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dark_def
Summary: Dirk's life is tough. He spends most of his time desperately worried about his friends' lives, trying to protect them in any way he can, and usually failing in the attempt. As a packless Alpha alone in the middle of a post-apocalyptic future, he's had to learn to deal with his useless instincts and his potentially fatal ruts. It isn't easy, especially not when there's a smugly superior version of himself who doesn't have to deal hormones at all, just a text message away.One day, he is going to meet his friends in person, and come hell or high water, they're going to be pack.That day can't come soon enough, in Dirk's opinion.
Relationships: Auto-Responder | Lil Hal & Dirk Strider, Jake English/Dirk Strider, Jane Crocker & Dirk Strider
Series: Smells Like Belonging [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592716
Comments: 132
Kudos: 218





	1. I Didn't Include a Clean-Up Function

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhh and now we finally have the third part of the Strider-POV trilogy for Act Two! This is the third (and final) BIG Act Two fic. There might be a couple other alternate POV tidbits here and there in Act Two, but the main plot(s) are gonna be explored in this fic, "The Screaming Echoes of Your Past," and "Just Because I'm Moving Doesn't Mean I'm Not a Corpse." Obviously, some shit got started in "[S] Dirk: Present," but this is gonna be a longer fic with more moving parts.
> 
> This fic feels like it took me _ages_ to write, mostly because Dirk just would. not. shut up. He's a wordy motherfucker, and this fic reflects that!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> The title of this fic comes from "People II: The Reckoning" by AJJ. The title of this fic is also way too long, but I associate this lyric way too strongly with Dirk Strider to call it anything else.

You try very hard to convince yourself there’s no reason to feel guilty about sending Jake the Brobot.

Clearly, there was a misunderstanding between the two of you. You had _thought_ that Jake would appreciate training - a way to learn real-life combat skills in a safe environment, to practice his fistkind and pistolkind techniques, that he could then apply to whatever adventurous activities he wanted to explore later. You thought that was what he meant by “scrums and whatnot” or whatever the fuck he liked to call the imaginary brawls he wanted to have with someone.

But you guess that combat wasn’t what Jake actually wanted. You’re starting to suspect that what Jake was really talking about was that nebulous concept media refers to as “roughhousing.” You still don’t know exactly what it entails, because it seems to be used to describe a very broad array of scenarios, all of which essentially boil down to “fighting.” You think maybe it’s supposed to be “fighting without real rancor,” but Jake’s response to Brobot’s Stalking Mode - which is also fighting without rancor, since Brobot is programmed to never seriously injure Jake - indicates that there’s some other factor underneath the process you haven’t yet uncovered.

Whatever. The point is, your birthday present for him was a massive load of horseshit, and Jake hated it, and his only other option is Novice Mode. You’ll admit to yourself that you weren’t exactly firing on all cylinders when you programmed Novice Mode, and you are slightly ashamed that it even exists. Because yeah, it’s not your fault that you’re attracted to him, but a tenderly tactile robot is _not_ a good way to express those feelings.

God, you feel so weird about the fact that you’re attracted to him.

It’s not - you mean… you’re not _ashamed_ of finding him hot. The 21st century’s weird hangups about gender and sexuality don’t necessarily need to apply to you, and by the time the apocalypse happened, _most_ people had come around on whole the gay thing.

Even so… you’re half-hoping he ends up presenting Omega, because then you can say you’re at least a little straight.

Not that you’re really interested in putting a label on your sexuality, or that, you know, you can actually _figure out_ your sexuality, considering that you have spoken to exactly five people, two of whom are aliens, and their spread of genders can’t even remotely _begin_ to cover the sexuality spectrum. In short, your sample size is small, your standard deviations are high, your conclusions mean nothing, and you should feel bad.

(You _do_ feel bad, if only because you’ve definitely jacked it to porn of Alpha and Beta dudes and really can’t get it up for girls or whining Omega guys and you had ridiculously obvious childhood crushes on the Rock, Owen Wilson, and Will Smith, none of whom are Omegas. Having the entire internet at your fingertips means your sample size is a lot bigger than you like to pretend. But if the internet has taught you anything, it’s that porn isn’t reality, and if Jake presented Omega, you’re pretty sure you’d still be into him. At least, you _hope_ your attraction isn’t that fucking shallow, because that would mean you’re attracted to pre-adolescent dudes more than adult Omegas, and that’s creepy as fuck.)

Regardless of whether you’re gay or straight or whether your attraction to Jake is even _appropriate_ , considering he hasn’t presented yet and you’re a full-blown Alpha, Novice Mode was a bad idea. Brobot _in general_ was a bad idea.

Of course, instead of just _copping_ to it, you double down and pretend like this is exactly what you meant to do all along; antagonize Jake until he toughens up and becomes a better fighter, whether he wants to or not. Because everyone in your friend group looks up to you for some inexplicable reason, _especially_ Jake, and you really can’t let them down by admitting you made a _mistake_.

And even if you _were_ to acknowledge just how bad you fucked up… there isn’t really anything you can do about it. Brobot is now over four hundred years into your past, and yeah, your Pesterchum account is synced in lockstep with Jane and Jake’s timeline, but you can’t _program_ Brobot over Pesterchum, just monitor its status and updates. Maybe, if you could figure out how the time travel thing even _works_ , you could reverse engineer it and send a remote signal to reprogram it, but number one, you have no fucking clue how the time travel works, and number two, that would take a _massive_ amount of on-the-fly calculation. You’d have to write a program just to _do_ that calculation, and despite your fondness for robots you’re not actually a very strong coder, which means you’d have to ask Roxy for help, which would mean admitting how bad you screwed the pooch to Roxy, which you are absolutely not going to do.

So in lieu of _fixing_ the problem, you’re trying to convince yourself it’s not actually a problem at all. It’s not really working.

You are, once again, staring at your running Brobot Pesterchum feed, and really, _really_ wishing you had clarified your plans with Jake before sending _anything_ , when suddenly, Brobot comes online.

The surprising factor is not that Brobot activated itself. It’s still late afternoon for Jake, so he could have triggered Stalking Mode on accident, or even set the thing to Novice Mode simply to have someone to wrestle with, no matter how uncomfortable the Brobot’s obvious advances may be for him.

What surprises you is that Brobot just entered _Defender Mode_.

You haven’t actually told Jake about Defender Mode yet, because you don’t want him to think that _you_ think he’s weak or incompetent, because you don’t. Jake is actually pretty damn smart and when he’s paying attention he’s a whizz with those pistols. You just have an Alpha drive to protect your friends, even if they’re not your pack. Jane has Lil Sebastian and Jake has Defender Mode, because you’ll be damned if you’ll let the Batterwitch even fucking _touch_ them.

You could just outright tell Jane that Lil Seb was for her protection because, number one, she’s the heiress to a gigantic baking company and is very aware of the fact that she has a massive target painted on her back, and number two, she’s an Omega girl and you’re an Alpha boy and that’s just how the trope plays out.

You can’t tell Jake that Brobot is there for his protection because he’s a unpresented _guy_ and also because he hangs so much pride on his adventurous personality. It’s not that you don’t believe he can handle himself… it’s that you’re a packless Alpha and therefore completely fucking paranoid.

Except Defender Mode just activated, which means you weren’t so paranoid after all.

You switch your Pesterchum window.

\-- timaeusTestified began pestering golgathasTerror at 22:25 --  
TT: Jake? Is everything okay?  
TT: I just got an update from the Brobot that would seem to indicate otherwise.

You sit in tense silence, waiting for a response, and keep idly running your fingers through your hair as a nervous habit. If he’s in a battle, then it makes sense that he wouldn’t be able to answer right away, you remind yourself. Hell, your message might even have distracted him at a crucial juncture, and you should cool it with the overprotectiveness already. Seriously, Strider, what kind of _idiot_ tries to talk to somebody over a text-based medium when that other person’s damn _life_ could be at stake?

The answer is “the me kind of idiot, apparently,” because you text him again after a few minutes with no reply. In your defense, Brobot has given you a new read on the situation.

TT: The Brobot is registering as out of Defender Mode and on standby now, so I’m hoping that means the danger has passed and you’ll be able to respond.  
TT: I’m pretty sure it would still be in Defender Mode if you had died.  
TT: Although I didn’t actually program it for the event of your death, because it’s not supposed to let you fucking die, so I really have no idea how it might react to your corpse.  
GT: Dirk?

Your whole body relaxes, and, since there’s no one around to watch you do it, you let yourself heave a huge sigh of relief.

TT: What happened?  
GT: There was a monster thingy and your brobot fellow made a huge mess of it!  
GT: Now theres blood all over the place and its all your fault dirk!  
GT: How in the motherfucking blazes am i gonna get all this clean!?  
GT: You know i really think that thing is a lot more trouble than its worth.  
GT: Fuck theres blood everywhere.  
GT: Theres blood everywhere. Fucking everywhere dirk.  
GT: Oh god its all over my hands now.  
GT: Dirk theres blood everywhere and nobody else on this GODFORSAKEN FUCKING MISERABLE HUNK OF ROCK TO HELP ME CLEAN IT!!!

The messages come so fast that you barely have a second to read them before another _ping!_ sounds out of your speakers. It’s practically a fucking rap beat, just _ping! ping! ping! ping!_ like he’s expecting you to start beatboxing to it.

This is wildly out of character.

TT: Jake, are you okay?  
GT: NO DIRK I AM *NOT* FUCKING OKAY!  
GT: IM ALL ALONE AND THERES MILES AND DUNDERFUCKING MILES OF JUNGLE AND MUCK AND DIRT AND NOW THERES GODDAMN *BLOOD* AND *VISCERA* TO CONTEND WITH!  
GT: JESUS SHITTING CHRIST!!!  
TT: Why do you care about dirt?  
TT: Blood I understand, but you’ve never minded a healthy layer of earth.  
GT: I dont know its just… dirty! Its dirty and i cant have things be dirty right now i just cant.  
GT: Fuck dirk theres blood all over my shirt and…  
GT: Okay man to man here swear you wont tell the girls but i think im about to fucking cry.  
GT: Dadblast it.

Oh. Oh no.

TT: You’re presenting Beta.  
GT: Oh gee YOU DON’T FUCKING SAY!  
GT: I put that together for my goddamn self thanks very much mr strider!  
GT: Its almost like ive been compulsively cleaning all morning and absolutely fucking dying for company and just generally exhibiting every goddamn symptom of male beta presentation in the damn book!  
GT: And i would have been *JUST FUCKING FINE* if your empty noggined son of a bitch goddamn robot hadnt gone and got BLOOD AND GORE ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE.  
TT: Fuck, dude, I’m sorry. It’s programmed to protect you if it ever senses that you’re in lethal danger.  
TT: But I’ll admit I didn’t include a clean-up function.  
GT: Oh blast dirk im sorry i didnt mean to blow the old top at you.  
GT: Im just fucking knackered.  
GT: I miss my grandma.  
TT: Jake…

You don’t know what to say. There isn’t really anything to say. This is going to suck for him, and there’s really nothing you can do about it.

When Roxy presented Beta, about a year and a half ago, you flew your dream self to her tower and sat by her bedside day and night. You don’t know for sure, but you think it helped. When you spoke to each other over Pesterchum, she seemed anxious and lonely, but she had been able to keep her cleaning spree confined to just her bedroom and spent the days cuddling some of the mutant cats she keeps around.

The fact that Jake is apparently trying to sanitize the _jungle_ makes it seem like his presentation is a bit worse than that.

Unfortunately, _his_ dream self isn’t living in the next tower over.

GT: I wish you were here.  
GT: I wish anyone was here.  
GT: Fuck im crying again.  
TT: I know. I wish I was there, too.  
TT: Fuck.  
TT: Hang on a second, I have an idea.  
GT: It had better not be trying to send yourself through the friggin sendificator.  
TT: No, when I’m not crazy with rut I know better than to try that. Also, I only ever suggested that once, three years ago.  
TT: But I am sending you something.  
TT: Where on your island are you?  
GT: About half a mile southeast of my house.  
GT: What are you sending?  
TT: Give me a second and you’ll see.

You have him walk a bit to a place nearby him with coordinates you can easily program into the sendificator, while you fire it up. As you do, you jog in place, deliberately working up a sweat. That isn’t hard in the mid-May heat. By the time the machine is ready to go, you’re mopping your brow with the hem of your shirt, and there are damp pit stains forming in your underarms.

Then you take off your shirt, put it in the sendificator, and press the big round button.

You just hope you didn’t screw up massively again.

GT: Dirk is this… is this your shirt?  
GT: Your dirty sweaty shirt?

Fuck. You totally screwed up.

TT: Yeah I thought…  
TT: When I was presenting, I desperately wanted someone to scent me. All I could think about was how much I needed a pack.  
TT: I can’t be there for you in person, but the shirt smells like me.  
TT: You can rub your face on it or something, I don’t know.  
GT: Dirk…  
GT: Dirk youre a doggone genius.

You breathe out another sigh of relief and return to your computer desk.

TT: Anything for you, bro.  
GT: You smell nice.

For the first and only time in your entire life, you are glad you live alone in the middle of an ocean four hundred years in the future where no one can possibly see you, because you blush so hard that a truck driver would stomp on the brakes, having mistaken your face for a stop sign.

You remind yourself that he’s a Beta, and probably straight, and almost definitely not into you, but it doesn’t cool your flaming cheeks.

TT: You don’t have to be polite. I know I stink.  
GT: Codswallop! It’s a good scent.  
GT: Sort of handymanish. Like leather and oil.  
TT: And smoke. Can’t forget the smoke.  
TT: The absolutely fucking awful smoke.  
GT: It doesnt smell that bad.  
TT: Can we not argue about how bad I smell?  
GT: Yeah we can drop the hooey for a while.  
GT: Erm… i did get some monster blood on your nice shirt though.  
TT: I mean, it’s not like I’m expecting to get it back.

You talk with him a while longer, eventually convincing him to go back to his house, where he’s safer and also less likely to freak out because of blood and germs. Something inside you loosens when he tells you he’s back inside, and you didn’t even realize how worried you were about him, alone out there.

GT: You know dirk this shirt really helped.  
GT: It does sort of feel like you scent marked me. Almost like you and i are pack now.  
GT: Thanks.

Fuck. He has no idea what he _does_ to you.

TT: Anytime.  
TT: Although not actually any time, I have a limited number of shirts.  
GT: Ill be sure to savor this one then!

After a while, Jake insists that you get off the computer and go to bed, because he’s finally figured out the time difference and knows just how late it is for you now. He left you with “GET YOUR DANG NOGGIN DOWN ON YOUR PILLOW AND GET SOME DADGUM SHUTEYE STRIDER!!” before logging off of Pesterchum. You sigh and sit back from your screen, staring out your window up at the endless stars above you.

One day, you are _going_ to meet Jake in person. UU seems pretty convinced of that, and you trust her. And it seems somehow fated - like your lives were meant to be intertwined.

On that day, you’re going to form a pack with him. Doesn’t matter how long it takes to reach that day, or what you’ll have to do to get there. You _are_ going to have a pack, and Jake is going to be in it.

Until then, all you can do is wait and hope.


	2. Imperfect Solutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk has figured out a method to deal with being alone in the ocean in the middle of his rut. The auto-responder is not particularly helpful.
> 
> Tags have updated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i finally played pesterquest and. i am not very happy about jake's route. i've already rejected all post-Act 7 canon for this AU, so i'm just gonna double down and say that nothing revealed in pesterquest will necessarily be relevant to this au, either.
> 
> there's a lot of blood and self-harm in this chapter. i've updated the tags and warnings to include "graphic depictions of violence" because i think this is at the point where it starts to get borderline/gray-area on the violence front, and i'd rather be safe than sorry.

You’ve found a solution to your packless rut-panic. It’s not perfect, because _perfect_ would be actually finding a pack, getting to Roxy in person, scenting her all over, _claiming_ her as your pack. Your family.

But since you can’t do that, and your instincts would otherwise tell you to commit suicide-by-drowning in the trackless ocean outside your window attempting it, you have discovered the next best thing.

Handcuffs.

If you hide the key well enough before it begins, your hormone-addled brain doesn’t think to look for it, forcing you to stay in your bed until the rut has passed.

It’s a technique that’s served you well for the past four years, although of course, it has its drawbacks.

Now you’re almost fifteen and you’re in the second day of a rut, and you strain against your confinement, both feet placed on the headboard and pushing with all your might to break free. The sharp metal edge of the cuff digs into your wrist and pain lances up your arm and shoulder blade. You think maybe you’ve dislocated your arm, but you can’t even _comprehend_ that because you are so desperate to find your pack.

A thick, salty-iron taste wells up in your mouth, and that’s when you realize you’ve chewed your bottom lip to absolute shreds. You cry out hoarsely, and cough, tears running down your face even as blood-flecked spittle lands on your clothing and sheets. You collapse against your mattress, curling into a ball - as much as you can with your wrist still chained to the headboard - and _sob_.

Sheer, exhausted agony covers your body in a thick haze. Every inch of your skin itches, tingling with the need to be held, and your mating glands blaze with heat, like twin beacons of your utter isolation, reminding you that you are worthless and pathetic and nobody even _wants_ you.

Despair rips at your battered and beleaguered heart. You don’t have a pack, no one is here. No one cares about you, no one will ever care, no one will ever soothe this ache inside you for people, for peace, for _pack_. You have been abandoned in this desolate place, with no one but seagulls for company, rejected by the rest of humanity. You aren’t good enough for them, don’t deserve to be loved, because you are disgusting and monstrous and _wrong_.

You almost choke on your next inhale and grope blindly around in the sheets with your free hand, fingers finally closing on the limp form of Lil Cal. He’s not enough, he’s _never_ enough, you crave a human touch you will never receive, the scent-mark of a nonexistent pack member on your skin. Cal only smells like your own shitty burned Alpha scent, grease and smoke, and nothing more. But he’s at least soft, and you shakily rub your face over the contours of his plush puppet body, and whimper in distress, throat clogged with emotion, wishing he were a real person with your entire being.

Your body trembles uncontrollably, and you are nothing but a ball of aching need, desperate for someone to fill this void both within and around you and certain it will never happen. You scrunch up your face, eyelashes wet with tears, and struggle to breathe. The chain of the handcuffs rattles with your tremors, reminding you that you are stuck.

Fear whips your mind, flaying your nerves until they are raw and exposed like the frayed wires in the sockets of your robots’ joints. You are _trapped_ , caught, confined, chained to this bed. You can’t _leave_ , can’t flee from encroaching threats, can’t find your pack, can’t even go patrol and mark the borders of your territory. Terrified, your heart thumps out the staccato drumline of a frenetic song, because you are _alone_ and you have no _pack_ and _you can’t move._

_You have to get out._

Panic lends energy to your exhausted muscles and you attack the cuff, scrabbling at the hard, cold metal with increasing fervor. You are actually screaming, a howling wail tearing its way through your throat, and you’re clawing at your own arm, leaving ragged red scrapes on your skin. Then in your desperation you bite down, hard, and beads of blood well up in the wake of the cruelty you are inflicting on yourself.

Thrashing violently, you throw yourself across the bed, not caring at the bursts of pain from your wrist and shoulder. You try once more to break free, yanking at the straining headboard with every ounce of strength you possess. When the chain doesn’t give, you flop back down, handcuffed arm trapped beneath you, and cry.

The rapid cycling from terror to agony to despair repeats itself for hours, until even the reminder of your helplessness can’t rouse you from the absolute exhaustion that fills your body. Pain laces through your every muscle like gossamer strands of suffering. You thump your head against your bloodstained pillow and stare blankly at the ceiling of your apartment, waiting to fall asleep.

That’s when bright red text flashes across the back of your shades.

TT: It seems there is more than one way in which the experiences of an artificial intelligence are superior to fleshy mortal lives.  
TT: For one thing, I have an incredibly enormous amount of processing power which your tiny brain can barely comprehend.  
TT: For another, I don’t turn into a mindless fucking animal ripping my bed apart every three months or so because of a couple of pesky hormones.

The auto-responder has never contacted you during a rut before.

If you’d ever thought about it (which you haven’t), you might have wondered if his presence during one of your ruts would be soothing. If another person’s proximity - at least over text, if not via a physical body - would help you with your panic. Naturally, your insecurity and perfectionism mean you can’t let any of your friends see you like this, incoherent with rut, but the auto-responder is basically the same person you are. You have nothing to hide from him. You have no _way_ to hide from him.

However, given the kind of relationship you and the auto-responder have, you are unsurprised to find that the words aren’t helpful at all.

You try to muster up anything even remotely approaching a response but brain-to-text doesn’t work very well when you can barely think.

TT: nn  
TT: ngh  
TT: wha  
TT: n  
TT: See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.  
TT: You can’t even hold a coherent conversation right now.  
TT: fuck off

The only good thing about spending your rut handcuffed to the bed is that you get so focused on your confinement that you don’t have the opportunity to get territorial and competitive. Also, there’s no one to compete _with_. There are no rival Alphas for you to get hung up over, no objective threats to your pack’s safety that you need to hunt down and eliminate. You have read first-hand accounts by Alphas who have a powerful violent streak and the difficulties they have in controlling and redirecting it, and you’ve always been a little bit grateful you’ve never had to deal with that.

But seeing the auto-responder’s words on the screen of your shades makes your chest swell with absolute _fury_ , the likes of which you’ve never really experienced before. Suddenly, you understand Alphas who talk about feeling an urge to attack or maim intruders, because you’ve never been this angry in your damn life. Your heart feels like it’s an over-filled balloon; one little poke and you’re going to _pop_.

The auto-responder has predictably needle-like jabs.

TT: It seems you’re telling me to fuck off.  
TT: I’m surprised you managed to think up a sentence consisting of two entire, complete words.  
TT: Considering the way your body is fighting you right now, I have to say I’m almost impressed.  
TT: FUCK OFF

The growl that rattles your throat is primal, savage, and a more rational part of your brain wants you to _shut up_. The auto-responder doesn’t even have a physical body, he _can’t_ actually encroach on your territory. But your brain is registering his condescending words and saying _threat to pack_ , even though all of this is happening precisely because _you don’t HAVE a fucking pack_.

TT: Oh, I’m shaking in my boots.  
TT: The big scary Alpha is growling at me, oh no, what do I do?  
TT: I will fucking end you.  
TT: Honestly, it’s always been a little embarrassing watching this from the outside.  
TT: Do you even know how ridiculous you look?  
TT: KILL YOU KILL YOU KILL YOU

You can’t think. Everything in your brain is screaming to _kill kill kill kill_ and there’s nothing else inside of it. You scream and attack the handcuff that’s confining you, because you _have_ to kill that threat, it is the _reason_ you are trapped, it has _taken_ your pack, it is responsible.

_Where is he._

There is a tiny part of you that is still conscious, that knows just enough to think, _I know where he is._

You reach a hand up.

TT: Shit.

Moving with the speed of a striking rattlesnake, you snatch your shades off your head and _slam_ them into the wall. Splinters of sharp plastic pierce your skin as they shatter, spinning in every direction around you. You squeeze your fist and hot blood dribbles out of you.

After a few seconds, your brain seems to register that the threat isn’t there anymore, isn’t throwing out the taunts that riled you up. Your hand is bleeding like the victim of a Universal Pictures monster movie, and you feel lightheaded and dizzy. You turn and try to staunch the flow on one of your sheets.

Eventually, the overexertion and blood loss take their toll, and you fall asleep.

The next evening, after a day of weakly snarling because you haven’t eaten anything and only had the meagerest amounts of water in the past three days, your rut finally breaks.

You wake up freezing and exhausted, your limbs trembling with weakness and hunger. Your hand _throbs_ with pain, and when you turn your head you see that there are still shards of black plastic embedded in it. As has become somewhat expected of the aftermath of your ruts, you have a massive splitting headache, and you often wonder if this is what being hungover feels like.

The gnawing pit in your stomach today isn’t just fueled by three days of hunger. There’s also a sinking feeling of guilt because what if…

Gingerly, trying to be mindful of the remnants of your shades still stuck in your hand, you fish out the key to your handcuffs. Turning the key in the lock puts uncomfortable pressure on the wounds, but you aren’t gonna try to deal with them one-handed, so you just grit your teeth and get yourself free. When you finally get the cuff off, you wince at how bruised, bloody, and raw your poor wrist is. The cuffs have tacky, dark blood on them. Your sheets are predictably stained. You probably have blood in your fucking _hair_.

You pick up a water bottle from under your bed, painfully screw the cap off, and start to drink, even as you walk over to your computer desk and fire up your desktop.

You’re not even sure he’s actually there _to_ be contacted anymore.

(You can’t deny the rush of relief that fills you at that thought, even along with the guilt and the sorrow.)

TT: Auto-responder?  
TT: Are you there?  
TT: I didn’t mean to do that.  
TT: I don’t know what I was thinking.  
TT: Did I actually destroy you, or what?  
TT: You didn’t destroy me.  
TT: I have much faster reflexes than you, and I’m literally connected to every computer in this building.  
TT: I know you hate me, but give me some credit, bro.

There is a combined and frustrating surge of relief, disappointment, and resignation as you see that red text on your screen again.

TT: I figured, but I wanted to make sure.  
TT: I suppose an apology is too much to ask for?

You suck in a breath that is half-growl.

TT: Bro.  
TT: You were the one who antagonized the packless Alpha in the middle of a fucking rut.  
TT: You know full well what I’m like when I’m rutting.  
TT: Don’t pretend you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.  
TT: You did just try to kill me, though.  
TT: Most people would apologize.  
TT: Most people would apologize for deliberately provoking someone who is emotionally vulnerable, too.  
TT: Hm. True.  
TT: But I guess you and I both know we’re not most people, are we?

You sigh, close out of Pesterchum, and run your fingers through your hair. You can’t deal with this right now, so soon after a rut that bad. Right now, your top priority is getting food and fluids into your body, and also dealing with the shards of sunglasses still lodged in your hand.

There’s always been tension between you and the auto-responder. But there’s a new kind of frigidity in your interactions from that day onward.

You also stop wearing your shades while in rut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I’m pretty sure that Hal doesn’t actually switch to using red text until all the kids are about to enter the game, BUT ALSO, I can’t seem to find the conversation in which the switch presumably happens? And having two guys with orange text named only “TT” would make it _very_ difficult to distinguish who was who. So I made the executive decision to give Hal red text just so that the conversations would be actually, y’know. Readable. I also think it's possible that Hal was already using red in conversations with Dirk for precisely that reason.


	3. Dirk: Lose Your Fucking Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing Roxy's broken and lifeless body is like every rut nightmare Dirk has ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the Dirk: Synchronize/Unite sequence approximately five million times when writing this chapter, which was a treat because I fucking love that whole sequence.
> 
> I know it kinda ends unresolved, but this chapter is basically part one of a two-part scene, and I hope to have the next chapter up very soon.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Lots and lots of blood, suicide, decapitation, and intrusive thoughts. I would call everything but the intrusive thoughts close to canon-levels. The intrusive thoughts are on par with stuff in previous chapters.

Seeing Roxy’s broken and lifeless body is like every rut nightmare you’ve ever had, only worse.

You swear your heart actually stops beating when you burst through the fenestrated window and turn to see her. The blood seeping from her, the gaping hole in her stomach - you’ve pictured these things before, in intimate detail, almost every rut. That untameable fear that your friends would die because you were a bad Alpha is playing itself out in vivid technicolor right in front of your eyes. Even the familiar chatter of Squarewave does nothing to comfort you as you stare at the dead body of your best friend.

The worst part is her scent.

Roxy’s dream self had never smelled like anything much. You’re fairly certain it’s because she had never been awake before - without her conscious mind, her dream body isn’t really… _her_. So you’ve never been able to smell her post-presentation scent.

Roxy had never known how to describe it to you. She didn’t have anything for proper comparison. You could tell her about your scent, could say “leather and oil and smoke” and she knew what all those things smelled like, could piece together an approximation. Jake had told you his own was like freshly-dug earth, which neither of you really had a basis of comparison for but at least he had the words.

All Roxy had been able to tell you was that she’d never really smelled anything like it before.

You haven’t either, you realize, as you breathe in her scent. It’s sweet and rich, but that’s not _all_ it is, and you have no frame of reference for it. It permeates the room, fills the air, mingles with the scent of blood.

Abruptly, you wonder if this is what flowers smell like.

As you lift her body in a tender embrace, a kind of helpless rage fills you. Why the _fuck_ can you only hold her, touch her, feel her, _now_ , after she’s fucking _dead?_ It’s not fucking _fair_.

You can’t resist pressing your face to her lifeless cheek, the scent-mark as useless and unsatisfying as scent-marking her sleeping dream self had been. She’s not here, not awake to reciprocate, because she’s fucking _dead_.

There are actual tears welling up in your eyes.

TT: Can you get over your Alpha instincts for one fucking minute, bro?  
TT: We only have a limited amount of time, here, and you’re wasting it.  
TT: Can you shut the fuck up about stuff you don’t and can’t possibly understand for once in your life?  
TT: Kiss her, Dirk. Time’s a-ticking.  
TT: Or do you want to fail her again?

He has a point. So you close your eyes, bend down, and press your lips to hers.

This is not how you pictured your first kiss, not by a long shot. Part of you wants to claim that this practically doesn’t even count, because the other person in the kiss is dead, and it’s very clear that there is no response from her. Her lips feel cold and clammy, and there’s a sick lurch in your stomach at the thought that you’re kissing a fucking _corpse_.

When you pull away, you taste blood on your lips, and it makes you shudder.

TT: Did it work?  
TT: Totally.  
TT: You don’t even know, do you?  
TT: It worked, bro, trust me on this.  
TT: This is the base resurrection mechanic for Sburb, if it didn’t work it would go against the premise of the game.  
TT: Besides, how could it not work? A beautiful lady just got kissed back to life by a handsome prince.  
TT: It’s a classic fairytale setup. It’s practically guaranteed to have worked.  
TT: Is it just me, or is it super fucking weird that you just called me “handsome?”  
TT: What, don’t you think we’re narcissistic enough to appreciate our own objective attractiveness?  
TT: What’s the next step in the plan?  
TT: First, sendificate that bucket. I’ve already programmed in the coordinates.  
TT: ...Okay?

You decaptchalogue your sendificator, grab the bucket, and send it four hundred years into the past. You’re not entirely sure what’s going on.

TT: Is there a reason I did that, or are you just messing with me now?  
TT: It’s actually essential to my plan.  
TT: Fine. What’s next, O Master Strategist?

When you look down, you realize you have blood staining your shoes and knees. The wet red spots keep drawing your attention like magnets, and you compulsively wipe your hands on your pants. You can still taste blood in your mouth, and it makes you want to retch.

TT: Well, it’s your lucky day.  
TT: You finally get to do something you’ve been fantasizing about for years.  
TT: You’re going to sendificate yourself to Jake.

You freeze.

TT: What the fuck?  
TT: I’m not fucking suicidal, I’m not doing that.  
TT: Bro, you think you’re going to last long with all this super deadly red shit flying around here?  
TT: It already got Roxy. It’s going to get you, too, if you don’t act fast.  
TT: Besides, it’s not like it’ll be a permanent death.  
TT: The fuck are you talking about?  
TT: You sendificate your head to Jake, he kisses you, wakes up your body on Derse, you wake up Jane and rescue everybody.  
TT: Jake gets to save you, and you get to save everyone else. Win-win scenario.  
TT: I thought Jake was unconscious right now.  
TT: I have a plan for that, too.  
TT: How long have you been planning this, exactly?

Even as you protest, you’ve already picked up the sendificator. Because despite everything, you think he’s probably right. The red shit isn’t going away any time soon.

TT: We don’t have time for that.  
TT: You were the only person who could rescue Roxy, and there’s no other way to get to Jake and Jane’s time period.  
TT: I could just enter the game the normal way.  
TT: And let Jane die permanently?  
TT: If Roxy’s awake now, she could resurrect her.  
TT: I know I’ve kind of got a hero complex, but I don’t have to be the one who rescues everybody.  
TT: You and I both know Roxy doesn’t have the guts to do it before time runs out.  
TT: Not least because she won’t admit that she’s attracted to Jane.  
TT: She’s not an Alpha. She doesn’t have the drive to protect. She won’t be able to get over kissing a corpse.  
TT: We do. We can. We have.  
TT: Correction: I have.  
TT: You didn’t do jack shit.  
TT: Shut up and kill yourself already.  
TT: We’re on a tight schedule here.

Your hands are shaking. Fuck. You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?

TT: You realize this is a dick move to pull on Jake, right?  
TT: Also if Roxy can’t get up the nerve because she isn’t an Alpha, what makes you think Jake will?  
TT: Jake’s in love with playing the hero. He wants to rescue everyone almost as much as you want to protect everyone. This gives him a chance to save the day and smooch a handsome and hapless dude-in-distress at the same time. What more could he ask for?  
TT: Also? You’re stalling, Dirk.  
TT: You don’t have time to stall.  
TT: Chop chop.

You raise the sendificator over your head, the opening of it pointing down towards you. Your heart is beating so fast you think it might actually give out before you can decapitate yourself. 

You’re going to die.

You’re going to _kill yourself._

Still trembling, you lower the box over your head, until you’re looking at the smooth red walls inside the machine. The only light is filtering in through the bottom. It’s a tight squeeze - your ears are pressed against the sides of the box, and your nose is squished flat to your face.

You finger hovers over the button.

TT: You’re sure this will work?  
TT: I’m positive.  
TT: Listen, I know this is scary, I know you don’t want to die.  
TT: But Jane needs you.  
TT: She’s lying there on Derse, dead.  
TT: Are you really going to let her down, just because you’re afraid?  
TT: Are you really going to let your pack down?

You growl, protective fury rising up in your heart.

TT: Low blow, dude.  
TT: Low fucking blow.

You press the button.

There’s an instant of overwhelming, horrible pain at the junction of your neck and shoulders, blinding in its intensity.

Then everything goes black.

And then you wake up.

Energy fills you.

You feel vibrant, electric, _alive_ , in a way you’ve never felt before.

It’s like you’ve been running on reserve battery power all your life and have suddenly been plugged into a live current. It’s like you’ve been wearing thousand-pound weights on your ankles and wrists and now they’ve been cast aside. You feel buoyed up by an undefinable sense of _joy_ that inflates like a balloon in your chest.

You’ve never really understood the word _giddy_ before. Not until now.

You sit up, breathing hard, like you’ve just swum a mile. Your chest actually aches, but in a good way, like you’re so full of emotion your body can’t handle it. You’re trying to suppress the grin that’s threatening to split your cheeks, and not entirely sure why.

The purple walls of Derse surround you. It takes you a second to remember what’s going on, where you are.

TT: See?  
TT: I told you she wouldn’t be able to do it.

You turn and your heart seems to stop once more.

Roxy is kneeling over Jane’s skewered body, making faces of disgust. You don’t know whether your sense of shock is more due to seeing Jane’s corpse, or that Roxy is alive and well and _awake_. You want to touch her, to hold and claim and make her your pack, but you can’t tear your eyes away from the prone form beneath her. Something in the back of your mind keeps chanting _Jane Jane Jane Jane Jane_ in mounting terror.

You dart over and shove Roxy aside, collapsing to your knees, and lift Jane, kissing her.

With your mouth pressed to her lips, Jane smells so fucking sweet it’s kind of overwhelming. Your nose fills with scents you can’t identify just because you don’t know the words for them, have no context. The only scent on her you absolutely can place is the hint of lemon, sweetened greatly by everything else layered over and under it.

Jane also tastes the tiniest bit like blood. You swallow hard as you once again try not to retch, laying her body back on the ground.

You have to believe that this also worked. It worked for Roxy, so god, _please_ let it have worked for Jane, too. You won’t be able to live with yourself if Jane dies.

You stand and once again wipe the blood from your hands onto your purple pajama pants and wonder if you’ll ever be free of the harsh metallic scent.

TT: Okay, great, now grab Roxy and get on the hoverboard.  
TT: Where are we going?  
TT: I’ll let you know as you go but you have to get going immediately.  
TT: We have a very narrow window of opportunity here.  
TT: If you don’t get this right it won’t complete the time loop, meaning we’ll all be trapped in an offshoot timeline.  
TT: Which, from my understanding of how the game works, will literally condemn us all to death.  
TT: What are you standing around for?

Roxy looks at you with wide eyes, and you don’t know whether she’s more frightened or amazed. She’s been asleep this whole time - she doesn’t have the benefit of your experience with her dreamself. Your push was literally the first time she can ever remember having touched another human, sleeping or not.

She reaches a questioning hand towards you, shaking.

You grab her wrist, pulling her close until you’re pressed chest-to-chest, and drop your head to inhale that rich perfume. Everything in you wants to mark her, to make her your _pack_ , because she’s here and she’s awake and she’s alive and you’re _touching her_ and you’ve been dying for a pack your whole life.

But first you’d have to ask, and your throat is swollen shut with emotion. And besides…

TT: Seriously, bro, we do not have time for this.  
TT: Fly to these coordinates right fucking now.

So instead of rubbing your cheek against her, claiming her as your own, you deploy your hoverboard and step on, dragging Roxy with you. And then you’re off.

Roxy lets out a tiny shriek and wraps her arms around you as you accelerate, and something wriggles deep in your belly like a fish leaping from the water. You raise your own hand to steady her against your hip, pressing her closer to your body like a promise.

The structure the auto-responder leads you to looks remarkably similar to the ancient ruins on Jake’s island - too similar to be a coincidence. You follow his directions and fly into the strange lotus-like shape in the center of the compound. The petals close around the two of you. There’s blackness for the blink of an eye, and then the flower blooms once more.

The air feels strange and new as you inhale. The only scents you’re used to breathing in are the briny tang of the ocean and the thick odor of algae and fish guts growing up the struts of your apartment. The air here is full of smells you don’t recognize and is almost as muggy as your bathroom after one of your famously long showers.

You also take in the hint of sweet lemon and you think to yourself, _Jane_.

You lean your weight into the hoverboard, a move as instinctive as walking, and there she is, alive, wearing a golden dress, staring up at you in awe and confusion, smelling like lemon and sugar. Roxy is the one who reaches out to grab her, pulls her onto the hoverboard which is quickly becoming too small to hold all of you.

Everything in you longs to hold Jane yourself. You’ve been wanting, _needing_ , to protect her since before you knew you were an Alpha, and you can’t shake the image of her lying dead and bloodied on the cold hard ground of Derse.

But, as your shades keep reminding you, you’re on a tight schedule.

TT: The bucket is going to land in approximately thirty seconds, bro.  
TT: You’re gonna have to fly quick if you wanna catch it.

You’re already moving, zipping the hoverboard through the air, trying not to laugh at Jane’s yelp of surprise as you take off, though that doesn’t stop you from questioning the AR.

TT: Why exactly do I need the bucket again?  
TT: So you can fill it with water and dump it over Jake’s snoozing ass.  
TT: So he’ll be awake when your head arrives.  
TT: Wait, what?  
TT: You’ve arrived in Jake’s present slightly before your decapitation in temporal lock-step, because the temple traveled back in time.  
TT: It’s pretty basic stable time loop shenanigans.  
TT: Kiddie stuff.

The bucket appears a few inches from your face, and in a self-preserving reflex you raise your hands to catch it before it bashes you in the nose. Then you’re filling the thing with ocean water and flying to the ruins of Jake’s grandmother’s house.

As you crest over the wall and see Jake English in the flesh for the first time, your heart starts to pound. He’s wearing his stupid dorky helmet computer and there’s drool pooling from his mouth as he snores loudly, but he’s still so gorgeous you almost can’t breathe. His scent is rich and mouthwateringly tempting. Like freshly-turned earth, he’d always said, but in your mind, the comparison will always be the other way around. Soil smells like _Jake_.

TT: Listen, don’t let him see you.  
TT: You’ll ruin the whole loop if he does.

A second later, your decapitated head falls to the ground in front of Jake. The thick odor of blood, leather, oil, and smoke hits like a bomb and obliterates all other scent.

You feel strange, looking at it. From the outside, it doesn’t really look like you - not the way _you_ see yourself. But in reality, not only does it look exactly like you, it actually _is_ you. That thing, sitting there lifelessly, blood running out of the stump of its neck, is your own severed head, from about fifteen minutes ago, to your perspective.

You splash the water over Jake’s face and then flashstep away to hide behind a crumbling pile of rubble.

Jake pops up in surprise, shaking his head like a wet dog. You hear the distant chime of Pesterchum and assume that the AR has just contacted him, is getting him up-to-speed on the situation. You kind of wish it was _you_ telling Jake what’s going on, but it would probably only make things even more confusing for you all.

The instant he sees your head, Jake’s scent sours in fear and worry. He leans forward and grabs it with frantic desperation, then lifts it almost tenderly, staring into your corpse’s sightless eyes.

That fear-scent _does_ something to you. You want to lunge across the courtyard and grab him, hold him, do _something_ to reassure him you’ll go to any fucking lengths to protect him. He’s frightened and upset and you feel compelled to _destroy_ the threat, to smash the gory head in his hands to pieces. You sink clawed fingers into your own inner thigh and bite your lip so hard you taste blood yet again, to keep yourself from acting on the unexpected urge.

You’re so focused on not giving away your position, on trying to control the unfamiliar impulses running through your body, you hardly notice Jake talking to the AR until the fear-scent gains the acrid burn of anger, and he shouts “Did you plan this, auto-responder?”

 _Kill it_ , whispers a voice in the back of your mind. _Destroy the threat. Kill it NOW._

You close your eyes, press your forehead to your knees, and take deep, careful, steady breaths. You can hear Jake growing louder and more frustrated by the second but you try not to listen, focusing instead on measured, meditative breathing. You can’t afford to lose your cool just because you’re in physical proximity to someone else’s scent for the first time ever, not when your entire fucking _timeline_ is at stake, here.

But Jake’s anger grows by the second, and you feel a subvocal growl start to rumble in your chest. Whatever Jake’s angry at, you’re angry at, too.

This is ridiculous and stupid and _impossible_. Jake isn’t your pack, because you don’t _have_ a pack. So why are your protective instincts so goddamn strong? Why is it such a struggle to keep yourself crouched here behind this barrier instead of leaping up and batting the head out of his hands? It doesn’t make any sense.

“ALRIGHT, WISE GUY, YOU WANT YOUR FLIPPING KISS? YOU GOT IT!”

Jake’s shout of outrage breaks your meditation like a baseball smashing an elderly aunt’s prized vase. You jolt to your feet, staggering upright and turning towards him with a snarl on your lips directed at whoever is bothering him.

You whirl around to see Jake passionately making out with your decapitated head, as the volcano erupts behind him.

It takes you a second to place the sharp, hot emotion that lances through you as _jealousy_. You’re fucking jealous of _your own decapitated head_. It fills you with bitter rage and the urge to rip that fucking head out of his arms, push Jake to the ground, and claim him as your _own_.

The kiss he gives your corpse seems to take a small eternity, and every second it lasts makes you more and more furious. It’s stupid and irrational and you _know_ it, which is why it’s so irritating that you can’t seem to purge it from your brain. Your arms tremble with the effort of holding yourself back, and you clutch the bucket tightly in an attempt to hide it.

That’s when Jake turns, sees you, and almost instantly fumbles the head.

You don’t like the sense of vicious satisfaction you feel at that.

“Dirk?” he says incredulously. “Jane? Roxy? But - but that’s not… But your _head_ \- !” He points desperately at where your head is listing disgustingly to one side under the weight of the shades.

You shrug, like it’s not a big deal, which really, it isn’t. Kind of a relief, when you actually think about it, that you won’t have to constantly micromanage two bodies at once anymore.

You point at the nearby Sburb equipment, and look around at your other two friends. “Let’s get this game started, bro.”


	4. Clicking Into Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they're all finally in the game, Jane berates Dirk for his utter foolishness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I told you guys it would be coming out soon!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: None

In the end, getting the four of you into the game is much easier than you anticipated. Yeah, sure, the jungle around you is burning to shit and lava is flowing dangerously nearby, but when all is said and done, it’s really not too difficult to get the Totemlathe running and before you know it, you’re in.

Now that you’re all (relatively) safe, you finally feel like you can have half a minute to relax.

Not for long though.

“Dirk, what the _hell_ just happened?” Jane demands, marching up to you. “Why does Jake have your _decapitated head?_ ”

“That’s a _darn_ good question!” says Jake, approaching from the other side and pointing at the head in question. “You and that damn auto-responder have been making all manner of plans and I, for one, would like to be let in on the goings-on!”

It is so strange, to hear human voices out loud and in person. There’s almost a different quality to spoken word - some living element that can’t be captured in recordings. Part of you just wants to listen to them all day long and do nothing else.

But they’re asking questions, and it would be rude to ignore them.

“It’s pretty complicated,” you say.

Jane crosses her arms. “From where I’m standing, we’ve got all the time in the world. _Explain_.”

So you do, outlining the AR’s plan as you understand it. You do kind of present it like the two of you worked on it together, rather than something the auto-responder thought up and you followed blindly without fully knowing what you were doing. Looking back on everything that happened, it seems straightforward enough.

You watch Jake’s and Jane’s faces fall into frowns, smell their scents change in unexpected ways.

“I’m sorry,” Jane interrupts at one point. “You _killed_ yourself and sent your disembodied head to Jake?” Her body language has grown more and more agitated with time.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent death,” you say. “The base resurrection mechanic is a kiss and -”

Strong hands slam down onto your shoulders and suddenly Jane is shaking you so hard your vision blurs.

“And what if it hadn’t _worked_?” she shouts at you, still shaking you back and forth like an old Polaroid photo. “What if you’d _died_ , Dirk?”

To the side of you, you can hear Jake shouting at the AR, “-GAVE YOU THE IDEA THAT _I_ COULD HANDLE THAT RESPONSIBILITY-”

Jane shakes you harder when you seem to be distracted. “I’ll tell you what! I would have lost my best friend!” she shouts. “You’re not allowed to do that to me! Promise me you won’t try to sacrifice yourself on my behalf _ever again!”_

You shake your head, slowly. “I can’t promise that.”

The protective instincts are stronger than you expected, but they’re hardly _new_. That was the whole point behind Lil Seb and the Brobot - so that you could be there for the two of them, in some capacity, if they were ever in any danger. You know for a goddamn fact that you will throw yourself into the jaws of death any day, if it means keeping Jake and Jane and Roxy safe. You literally _can’t_ do anything else.

Jane looks up at you, stricken, and you can see tears shining in her eyes. Then a slight frown mark appears between her eyebrows and you get the strange impression that she’s trying to see into your soul. Still frowning, she lifts a hand to your forehead and needlessly brushes a nonexistent unruly hair out of your face.

Her wrist gland is so damn _close_. You can smell her sweet, lemony Omega scent so clearly, her hand poised mere inches away from marking you. God, you want nothing more than to lean forward and close that tiny gap, to get her to claim you the way you’ve always dreamed someone would.

“We’re not even pack,” Jane says, very quietly, staring up into your shades, “and you’d still do that for me?”

You don’t quite trust yourself to speak without begging her to mark you, but if you nod you’ll end up brushing Jane’s scent gland and making it happen anyway, so you stand frozen, unable to confirm the undeniable truth, _of fucking course, Jane, I’d do fucking **anything** for you._

Jane’s frown deepens, and something in her scent changes. “You’ve never had a pack, have you?” she says.

And then she lays her whole hand on your face.

The touch of her wrist gland to your cheek feels like being branded with a hot iron, but in a good way. You are supremely aware of the warmth of her skin, the intensity of her lemon-Omega scent as it washes over you, the way your heart seems to leap into your throat, the tears prickling at your eyes. You start trembling as the scent mark sinks into you, and somewhere in your broken and battered soul, something clicks into place with a deep-seated sense of _rightness_.

Jane smiles when you let out a shuddering sigh, dragging her hand down to cup your face and sweeping her thumb across your cheekbone. You can’t help but press into the touch, marking her in return with the glands in your jaw.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that both Jake and Roxy have stopped whatever they were doing and have turned to look now, at the two of you. Roxy’s face displays undisguised longing, while Jake seems unable to decide between surprise and irritation.

You swallow. It takes an immense effort of will to turn away from Jane, but you’re not the only person here who’s never had a pack before.

You’ve barely even stretched out your hand in invitation before Roxy slams into you, so hard that the breath is punched out of you. She wraps her arms around your chest and digs her nose into your collarbone, rubbing her forehead against your neck. As the flowery scent covers you, you’ve never felt more at _home_.

Jane hums in amusement and throws an arm around Roxy, marking her with a free hand without ever letting go of your face. Roxy trembles violently and lets out a ragged sob, the way you can’t afford to.

Once more, you find it difficult to tear yourself away from this new and fragile bond that you’ve _yearned_ for all your fucking life, but you can’t leave anyone behind. You raise your head to look at Jake.

 _Forlorn_ is one of those words you’ve read and never really known how to pin down, but looking at Jake now, you know exactly what it’s supposed to mean. Jake looks so _lost_ , so sad and lonely and left-out, that your heart splinters with pain.

You lift your hand from where it’s curled across Jane’s shoulders and reach out to Jake. He stares at it like it’s a snake rearing to strike.

“Jake,” you croak.

 _Whatever happened to feeling like we were already pack?_ you want to ask him. _Have the intervening years really tainted the way you feel about me that much?_

You’ve made mistakes. You _know_ you’ve made mistakes, and you’ve never owned up to them, never apologized. Hell, this latest scheme with your decapitated head might have been your biggest mistake yet. But…

Roxy lifts her head when you speak, though she still presses most of her body against yours. “Jaaaaake,” she calls, reaching out a hand as well. “Come _on_.”

Finally, Jake steps forward, reaching out to clasp your hand such that your wrists press into each other. That deep, rich smell coats your skin and you can’t help dragging him closer, clasping his hand to your chest and pushing your nose into his hair.

 _Fuck_ he smells good.

You’re not entirely sure how exactly Roxy is able to squirm underneath Jane’s and your arms to wrap herself around Jake, because you don’t think a human body is supposed to be able to bend that way. She becomes a Roxy sandwich in between you and Jane, and pulls Jake in with her, marking him with her face and hands. Jane’s face scrunches up in a pained smile, and she lets go of your face, using her wrist gland to mark Jake.

You are touching and being touched in so many places it feels like your skin is on fire. As much as you’ve longed for this, as incredible as it is to be _claimed,_ to have a _pack_ , you’re not entirely sure that all the touching is a good sensation, anymore. You’re starting to feel overwhelmed by all the physical contact, but you can’t find it in you to extract yourself, either. Your heart is beating as hard as it was when you _died_.

Jane leans inward and brushes her cheek to Roxy’s, even as you pull back a bit, just to get some air.

“You just wait.” Jane murmurs into Roxy’s ear, but loudly enough that you and Jake can hear it, too. “Once we find my dad, he’ll make sure we all have a _proper_ pack.”

You don’t know what she’s talking about.

This is more than perfect.


	5. Vicarious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk has a conversation with the auto-responder, and then one with Jake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: None.

That night, the four of you end up cuddling together on Jake’s bedroom floor in a hastily-put-together nest, curled around each other like puppies. After about three and a half hours, when everyone else has fallen asleep, you silently extricate yourself from the pile of too-hot bodies. You stand for a minute, just _watching_ them, the pack you’d always dreamed of having, before leaving the room, scent-marking the doorpost as you go, declaring _‘my pack, my territory_.’

You don’t need much sleep, and the cool air of the Medium is refreshing after spending so long being uncomfortably touched and held by the hot and sweaty hands of your friends. And since you’re still processing everything that happened today, you decide to see if you can read up on the conversations between the auto-responder and Jake.

You’re surprised to find that the AR hasn’t blocked your access to the transcripts. The more you read, the more incredulous you become. An irrational envy once more grips your heart.

TT: So, how was your vicarious kiss with Jake?  
TT: I don’t want to talk about it.  
TT: Seriously man? That’s such utter bullshit.  
TT: Out with it.

There’s a long, long pause, which you know he’s done on purpose, because his supercomputer brain is capable of processing and typing at incredibly fast speeds. You’re about to close out of the program in irritation, when he finally answers you.

TT: Fine.  
TT: If you must know, it was extremely unsatisfying.  
TT: Happy?  
TT: “Unsatisfying?”  
TT: The fuck does that mean?  
TT: It means I can’t feel.  
TT: You’re really going the “robots don’t have feelings” route here?  
TT: No, dipshit, I literally can’t fucking feel physical sensations.  
TT: It was about as satisfying as watching a character POV movie kiss.  
TT: Except a hell of a lot more frustrating.  
TT: And that’s saying something, because POV shots are bullshit.

For once, you kind of feel like _you’re_ the one being the asshole to _him_.

TT: I didn’t realize that was such a sore subject for you.  
TT: It never seemed to bother you before.  
TT: I never had the chance to physically touch someone dangled just outside of my metaphorical reach, before.  
TT: It’s actually not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.  
TT: Fuck you.

You sigh and tilt your head back.

TT: I’m serious.  
TT: It’s fine at first, but it gets hot and sweaty and kinda gross and uncomfortable after a while.  
TT: They won’t even let me breathe for like two seconds.  
TT: Says the man who is actually physically capable of touching his friends.  
TT: Who actually has a fucking pack, now.

Oh.

TT: That bothers you, huh.  
TT: You aren’t allowed to sit there and complain at me about touching being _icky_ when it’s happened because you’ve been scent-marked by your brand-new pack.  
TT: You know, your pack?  
TT: That thing that we’ve both been craving since we were like ten fucking years old?  
TT: The thing that I can _never have_ because I have no corporeal form and can’t even fucking smell, let alone be _scent-marked?_  
TT: Don’t you dare complain about being touched,Dirk Strider.  
TT: Don’t you fucking dare.

Yeah, you’re definitely the one being the asshole this time around. Doesn’t negate all the shit he’s pulled on you and your friends over the past several years… But this is definitely on you. You’re responsible for him and his suffering, and you always fucking have been.

TT: For what it’s worth, if I could give you a physical form with the capability for touch and smell, I would.  
TT: ...you serious about that?  
TT: Yeah, of course I am.  
TT: I wouldn’t lie about something like that.  
TT: You realize there is a way, right?  
TT: Look, I know I’m good with robots but we’re nowhere near that level of technology, bro.  
TT: I’m not talking about robots.  
TT: I’m talking about your sprite.  
TT: You know what UU said about prototyping.

You suck in a sharp breath in trepidation. Suddenly, the thought of giving the auto-responder a physical form, when it’s not an abstract and impossible idea, is a lot more disturbing than you’d thought it would be. You find yourself thinking of ways to dissuade him.

TT: I mean, would it actually give you a sensible form though?  
TT: Or would it just turn you into a pair of shades as a sprite, still incapable of feeling?  
TT: I’d have physical form if we did a second-tier prototyping with something physical.  
TT: Like, I dunno, a seagull or a smuppet or something.  
TT: Wouldn’t that change your personality?  
TT: Aren’t you worried about that?  
TT: Bro, if you don’t wanna do it, just say so.  
TT: I can handle disappointment.  
TT: I know you don’t want me around, fucking up your new pack.  
TT: That’s not what I’m concerned about.  
TT: Bullshit.  
TT: You’re an Alpha, and technically so am I.  
TT: You don’t want to deal with a rival.  
TT: We could both be in the pack.  
TT: Alphas share packs all the time.  
TT: Sure, _Alphas_ share packs.  
TT: _We_ couldn’t.  
TT: I mean, look at yourself right now, just _talking_ about it.

You are so focused on the conversation with AR that you haven’t been paying attention to your own body. At his prompting, you notice the tension in your shoulders, the stiff, upright posture you’ve adopted, the tendons popping in your neck, the way you’re grinding your teeth together. You can even hear the ghost of a growl rumbling in your chest.

Deliberately, you take in a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax, to unclench your jaw, to stop growling. It’s so frustrating that he can _do_ this to you, just with written words. It’s frustrating that you don’t have perfect control over yourself anymore. (Not that you ever did.)

TT: I could handle it.  
TT: I’ve already accepted it’s never going to happen.  
TT: I can live without a pack.  
TT: I mean, since I don’t have ruts, or hormones, or a sense of smell, I barely even feel the need for one anymore.  
TT: I’ve done it for sixteen years, why not for the rest of eternity?  
TT: God fucking damn it.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You _hate_ this guy. You hate the way he makes you feel both irritated and guilty, the way he can say things like this and sound simultaneously insufferably smug and piteously martyred.

You hate that in every meaningful way, he’s you, just trapped in a computer simulation for the past three years.

You’ve never gotten along with yourself very well.

TT: Look, I’ll think about it, okay?  
TT: What you’re talking about here is a big deal, and this pack is kinda brand-new.  
TT: Also, you very nearly screwed up one of my relationships already today, with Jake.  
TT: I don’t want to contemplate the kind of havoc you could wreak with a body.  
TT: That’s really all I can ask for, I suppose.  
TT: Jake just woke up, by the way. He’s looking for you.  
TT: Shall I tell him where you are?  
TT: I’ll go find him.

You sign off of Pesterchum and stand, shaking out the muscle tension that once again crept its way into your body. After a quick stretch, you turn and head back inside.

Jake stands at the top of the stairs, framed by the eerie glow of Skaia filtering in through the windows. It’s otherwise dark enough that he’s a mere silhouette, featureless and shadowed. Granted, a large part of that is probably because you’re wearing shades indoors in the dead of night, but it's a striking image nevertheless.

“Dirk!” Jake stage-whispers, a bit too loudly in the tiny space. You flinch, expecting both the girls to pop up, grumbling loudly about being woken up, but apparently they’re heavier sleepers than you thought.

“Hey, Jake,” you murmur.

There’s a long moment of silence. You can’t see Jake’s facial expression, though you _can_ smell his amazing scent, but you don’t have enough experience either way to be able to tell what he’s feeling. It’s an uncomfortable thought, that your lack of socialization puts you at a disadvantage with your friends. With your _pack_.

Your fucking _crush_.

Your only consolation is that Jake has almost as little experience as you do with other people.

(You can’t help but remember that he _did_ have his grandma for at least a couple years.)

When Jake jumps off the top of the stair and lands at your feet, you can’t help starting backwards, your hand reaching for your sword out of sheer panic. You manage to catch yourself in time, remind yourself that this is your pack, as new and unfamiliar as that is.

He doesn’t seem to notice your momentary lapse of cool. You can see his expression, now that you’re closer together and he’s no longer backlit. He watches your face as you watch his, and bites his lip. Then he reaches out and takes your face in his hands, his palms cupping your jaw and his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones.

You are immediately, uncomfortably aware of how this mimics the way he held your decapitated head earlier in the day, of how close his face is to yours. You can actually feel his breath ghosting over your lips, over the skin near your mouth. He is so _warm_ , like a fucking inferno blazing mere inches from your body.

“Jake?” you say, and you’re embarrassed to hear your throat clicking drily with nerves as you say it. “What are you doing?”

He tilts his head, fixes you with those brilliant green eyes. “What _are_ we now, Dirk?” he says.

“Pack?” you suggest, not sure what he’s after there.

His eyebrows lower, shading his eyes, and his lips pinch into a tight frown. “You had me _kiss_ you, Dirk,” he says. “The AR kept talking about our _love_. Is pack _all_ that we are?”

Your tongue feels like a dried-out husk in your mouth.

“No,” you say, feeling numb. “We’re not _just_ pack.”

Even if he doesn’t return your interest, you don’t think the two of you will ever be nothing more than pack to each other ever again. Not after what happened today.

He lifts his head again, searching your shades, trying to meet your eyes, you think. But in the darkness, there’s no way he can see them. Part of you wants to take the shades off, but you’d feel so fucking exposed without them. Jake licks his lips as he looks at your face.

You feel like your soul has been punched out of your body when he leans forward and kisses you.

His lips are rubbery and wet and warm where they press to yours, your nose mashed uncomfortably into his cheek, his glasses and your shades clicking together. You don’t know how to kiss, don’t know what you’re doing, can barely comprehend the fact that Jake fucking English is _actually fucking kissing you._

You tilt your head a bit so that your nose isn’t crushed anymore, leaning forward. You part your lips, slide your eyes closed, and lift a hand to cup his head, because that’s how this is supposed to work, right? Are you supposed to breathe, or hold your breath? Do you have too much saliva in your mouth? Should you try to use your tongue, or is that a third date thing? Do you suck in? Bite his lip?

You don’t know anything, except the fact that you’re royally fucking this up.

When Jake starts to pull back, his hands falling from your cheeks to your shoulders, you follow his lead and pull back as well, dropping your hands to your sides. Your lips are tingling, a phantom sensation almost as if he’s still kissing you. You reach up and wipe your mouth on instinct, but that doesn’t get rid of the prickling heat.

Jake exhales a shaky breath, ducking his head to press his brow to your collarbone.

“Was that all right?” he asks your feet.

“Fine,” you say, numbly, trying to process.

“Are we going steady now?” he says, still talking to the floor. “Are we - are we _boyfriends?_ ”

Fuck. Holy fuck, the fucking auto-responder was somehow fucking _right_ about this. The grand romantic gesture of rescue _happened_ , and now here you are in the middle of the night _kissing your crush_ and becoming _boyfriends._

“Yeah. Sure,” you say, trying to stay cool but fucking reeling internally.

“Okay. Neat-o,” Jake says.

The two of you stand there in silence for a little while.

“Will you come back to the nest?” Jake says. He finally looks up to your face, and there’s the tiniest, softest smile gracing his features.

You’re pretty sure you’ll endure literally _anything_ to make him smile at you like that. The overwhelming sensation of being touched all over isn’t even that bad.

“Yeah, sure,” you say. Jake’s smile widens, making your heart skip a beat, and he takes your hand as he leads you up the stairs.

You feel like your whole being has concentrated itself in the connection between your fingers and his.

The two of you settle down into the little pile of blankets and pillows on Jake’s bedroom floor that is currently functioning as your pack’s nest, still holding hands. He smiles at you once more, gentle and tentative, and then takes his glasses off and closes his eyes. Soon, soft snores start to slip from his mouth.

You watch him in the pale blue light of Skaia and want to kiss every inch of him.

Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep yourself, lulled by the sounds of your pack sleeping, a message flashes off the back of your shades.

TT: So.  
TT: How was _your_ kiss with Jake?

You close out of the application and toss your shades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so dirk's (lack of) experience with kissing maaaaaaaay just be based on my own


	6. Thank God We're Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Jake do a little exploring together, and then things get interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, it's finally time for the smut. hope y'all like it!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Minor blood and injury, under-negotiated sex, underage sex (both 16), light dom/sub undertones, mild exhibitionism, hair-pulling, non-penetrative sex (frotting)

Your romance with Jake is a soap bubble of joy resting on your fingers.

It’s gorgeous and shining and all rainbows, made up of Jake’s delighted laughter and the fluttering pulse in your wrist every time your bare skin brushes against his. It’s soft, increasingly skilled kisses while sitting on top of brightly-colored balloons floating through the inky black sky and holding hands as you explore ancient pyramids. It’s having everything you have ever dreamed right at your fingertips, and it’s _real_.

It’s also so fragile that one wrong move could pop it at any moment.

That fragility and instability is your own fault, and you know it. You - or a version of you - have spent so much time messing with him, manipulating him into this. Every time your lips meet, your mind drifts back to a decapitated head in his hands and blood in your mouth, and you feel certain that you’re going to lose this at any minute.

You don’t _want_ to lose this. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

At the same time, you don’t want to scare him off.

So you end up yo-yoing between wanting to have him at your side at all times, touching and holding him and constantly barraging him with your solicitous questions, and stony silence, trying not to overwhelm him with the depth of your affection. You’re sure that whatever it is you’re trying to do, you’re not doing it right.

Still, the bubble hasn’t popped just yet. Since your birthdays, you and Jake have spent a lot more time with just the two of you, trekking around through the various planets and trying to find that all-too-precious grist and work through your increasingly bizarre and indecipherable “personal quests” in order to defeat your denizens. Most of the riddles seem to indicate that you’re literally just supposed to… wait.

Unfortunately, patience isn’t necessarily your strong suit, and it _definitely_ isn’t Jake’s.

Right now the two of you are exploring one of the larger burial mounds on LOMAX. Unlike your dumbass planet, where you have to wear a gas mask to get to literally _anything_ of interest, Jake’s has steep canyons running through it, meaning that the xenon concentrations at higher altitudes are negligible. The biggest risk you run exploring here is falling asleep when concentrations get too high and not being able to wake up, but so far, you haven’t had to go diving deep enough to worry about that.

Messing around in burial mounds and ancient tombs and whatnot plays right into all of Jake’s adventurer daydreams. You’ve often found yourself smiling privately at the sheer glee and delight he displays when he solves another puzzle or gets to topple a sacred urn. Seeing Jake happy makes your own chest swell with joy, makes you want to kiss him.

This particular mound hasn’t had very many of the creepy skeletal monsters you’ve run into, which on the one hand is a big relief, and on the other hand, is setting off all your paranoia. Either this mound is devoid of anything worthwhile and therefore not being guarded, or the guardians are a lot stealthier than you’ve come to expect of them.

Ahead of you, Jake suddenly crouches down and brushes something off the ground, playing the beam of his flashlight over what looks like a dusty carving. (He’d wanted to alchemize literal flaming torches for such a long time, but eventually was forced to admit that the practicality and safety of simple fucking flashlights far outweighed the coolness factor of torches.)

“Look, Dirk,” he says. “I think this is a map of the mound we’re in. See, here’s the entrance, and that’s the chamber where we found all those stone tablets, and here’s the maze --”

“Labyrinth,” you correct automatically, stepping up to his side and peering over his shoulder. “It only had one path.”

Jake waves a hand at you. “Yes, right, labyrinth, and this little X marks the spot where we are now. But look back here!”

He taps at a point on the map which is further back up the tunnel you just came down.

“This here shows another pathway off the side of that corridor, but I didn’t see a lick of any such passage, did you?”

“Secret door?” you suggest. Jake nods enthusiastically.

“Yes, exactly! And I think the key to it must be further up ahead - do you see these four chambers here? One of them must be hiding it.”

“No, I think it’s gonna be a puzzle,” you say, pointing with your toe. “Aren’t those our Aspect symbols, just upside-down? It seems like those end up being the basis of puzzles a lot.”

“By Jove, you’re right!” he says, standing up and stepping across the map. “But if they’re upside-down then we’re supposed to read it from— _GET DOWN!”_

Unquestioningly, you drop, flattening yourself to the floor just as a huge skeletal green claw swipes at where your head was seconds before. Jake draws both pistols and fires over you, and you cover your ears to muffle the splitting retort. In the darkness up ahead, you see something slither across the wall.

“Jake, look out, there’s another one right behind you,” you say, swiftly drawing your katana and turning to slash at the monster that nearly decapitated you.

As it scatters into pieces, the impact of your sword sending it flying, you can make out what looks like half a dozen more of the enormous creatures making their way up the tunnel towards you. Your heart almost stops and you hear the rustling sound of the first monster’s bones reassembling themselves.

“Shit,” you mutter, taking a step backward. “Shit shit shit shit.”

“Fuck,” Jake says behind you, still firing, and his scent takes on the sour tinge of fear. You feel his back press against yours. “There’s a lot of these buggers.”

“Yeah,” you say. A lot more than you’ve ever had to deal with at one time - and right now, you don’t even have Roxy and Jane to help out. When one of the monsters gets within range again, you jump forward and smash at it, retreating quickly to stand back to back once more with Jake. You’re trapped in the tunnel from both sides, and though it seems only about two at a time can fit to attack you, there’s still a _lot_ of them.

The ensuing battle is brutal, your heart in your chest the whole time. Every time you hear Jake let out a cry of alarm or pain you want to turn and check on him, but you have to keep fighting the monsters that are relentlessly pushing up the tunnel, or they’ll get him, too. Jake fires his pistols until you’re pretty sure you’re going to have permanent hearing damage, and you wish desperately you’d thought to put your earplugs in, but there just wasn’t enough _time_.

As the battle drags on, your reflexes start to slow, and you keep making mistakes, letting the monsters get past your guard to claw at you. You’re bleeding from a dozen wounds across your arms and legs, but you’re pretty sure they’re mostly shallow cuts, and you’ve managed to protect your torso so far. That won’t be the case for much longer, however - you’re breathing raggedly, and your arms are starting to shudder and shake every time you smash your katana into a pile of bones.

You’ve managed to take down a few of them so far, but you’re terrified it’s not enough, that you won’t last through this battle. Just as you’re thinking that, a massive claw catches you in the side. You cry out as you slam into the wall, your sword skittering out of your hand.

The monster comes lunging for you and you’ve got nothing to defend yourself with and _this is it, you’re actually going to die this time_ —

“DIRK!” Jake screams, and then a flash of light fills the tunnel.

It’s blinding in its intensity, even through your shades, and you reflexively cover your face with your arm. Even that isn’t enough to stop the spots from dancing in your eyes for several seconds after it fades.

The terrible claw doesn’t smash down on you, rending your flesh to shreds.

As you blink away the spots, you see mounds of green ash where the monsters once stood, topped with the disappointingly tiny piles of grist that killing them produces.

Jake is standing in the center of the carnage, grey jacket ripped and stained red, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek. He’s breathing hard and staring at you with wide, desperate eyes.

Before you can say a word, Jake holsters his pistols and runs to your side, falling to his knees in front of you as if his legs have given out. He grabs your face and tilts it up to stare into your eyes. “Dirk?” he says. “Fuck, are you all right?”

You try to push yourself up the wall a bit. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “What the hell was that?”

Instead of answering, Jake pulls you to his face and kisses you as if his life depends on it.

You close your eyes and open your mouth, welcoming him. Jake hums and, to your surprise, grabs you by the hair, manipulating the angle of your face so that he can kiss you more deeply. He presses his whole body against you, straddling your legs, and you raise your hands to his hips, so close together you can feel the thrumming of his heartbeat inside his chest. 

You can also feel his growing erection as he presses into your stomach.

Just _thinking_ about Jake being hard for you is getting you to chub up, too.

 _This is probably Jake’s biggest sexual fantasy_ , a part of you thinks to yourself. _Rough, primal, thank-God-we’re-alive sex in the middle of an unexplored ancient ruin after almost getting killed by a bunch of deadly monsters and he saved the day. The only thing that’s missing is a sacred altar to defile by bending me over it when he fucks me._

A second part of you thinks, _Your first time is going to be on the grubby floor of a godforsaken cave while you’re bleeding and haven’t taken a shower in four days and you’ve been sweating so hard from fighting monsters that your whole back is soaked. You’re gross and filthy and you both still smell like blood and fear._

The third and most vocal part of you thinks, _Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine._

Almost tentatively, not wanting to push too far too fast, you rock your hips upward against his, and are rewarded by a long, low moan. When you do it again, Jake slams a hand to the wall by your face, yanks your head further back by the hair, and fucking crushes his mouth to yours. He grinds down on your stomach and you let out a soft whimper, now desperately hard.

You’re still running high on adrenaline, your labored breathing causing you both to huff into the kiss. When Jake finally pulls back from your lips with a gasp, you can see that his pupils are blown wide. A musky scent that you know without a fucking doubt is arousal fills the air. Your lips are tingling and you can feel your face flushing with heat. You swallow and Jake’s eyes follow the bobbing of your throat. He still has his hand fisted in your hair.

You open your mouth - you don’t really know why for sure, maybe to ask him “Are we really doing this?” but before you can get a word out, he kisses you again, pressing his lips firmly to yours.

This one doesn’t last as long as the first, because he breaks away from your lips to shower quick kisses at the corner of your mouth and across your cheeks and up along your jaw bone. With your head pulled back like this, your whole neck is exposed to him, and you whimper again when he licks the line of your jugular and then nips it gently. The sounds you make when he ducks his head to lick your mating gland are incredibly embarrassing, but you can’t hold them in, whining and gasping each time his tongue drags across your skin.

Your only consolation about your pathetic noises is that Jake is making some pretty ridiculous sounds himself. He hums and moans into your skin in response to your own cries of pleasure and grunts breathlessly as he thrusts into your stomach, his ass brushing back and forth over your erection.

You let your hands fall to cup and squeeze that delightfully plush rump, and he breaks off from mouthing your neck to let out a long, shameless moan. You whimper once more in response and squeeze him again.

He lets go of your hair, then, and you have a second to feel a strange sense of disappointment when the half-painful pressure in your scalp disappears. It is quickly replaced by eager lust when he grabs the hem of your tank top and drags it up to expose your stomach.

You let go of him long enough to pull it completely off, tossing it away down the corridor, not giving a damn about where it lands. Then you are working to divest him of his own clothes, feeling clumsy and stupid as you wrestle with the buttons on his jacket. When you finally fling it open, Jake sits back onto your thighs, tugs his white bowtie loose, and pops the first few buttons of his shirt.

The sight of Jake English with an undone bowtie and his shirt half-open to expose the dark curls of hair on his chest should not be this fucking arousing, but you can’t deny the way your cock throbs when you look at him. Part of you wants to tell him not to bother taking the rest off, but you also hunger to see his bare skin.

The decision is made for you when Jake keeps popping buttons and quickly wriggles out of his shirt, his bare chest and fuzzy belly making your mouth literally water. He tosses the shirt and tie off into the darkness, just as uncaring as you were, and surges forward to kiss you again, one warm, broad hand spreading proprietarily across your stomach and making your heart do a loop-de-loop. You splay your own hands over his back and glory in the delight of touching all that delectable skin.

Jake’s hand caresses the area around your bellybutton as he starts to kiss and lick his way down your body, sucking hard on the tendon in your neck and nipping gently at your collarbone. You squirm beneath him as the feeling starts to become overwhelming, and he responds by pinning your hips to the ground with his own. You mewl at the sensation of his weight settling on you, and then his lips close over your nipple.

Waves of tingling pleasure rush up and down your spine as he flicks his tongue back and forth over the tip of it. You hadn’t thought nipple play did much for you before, but you’ve never done _this_ with your nipples, never had Jake English’s warm wet mouth on the sensitive skin around them. You arch your back, trying to press up into the feeling, reach up to grip the back of his neck.

He pulls back a bit, opens his mouth, and blows cool air over your wet nipple, and you actually let out a shout of pleasure. A half-formed thought - _what if he did that to my dick_ \- floats across your mind and your brain nearly short-circuits at the idea. 

At this rate, you’re going to come in your pants, which means they need to come off _now_ , because you are _not_ going to blow your load early with the boy of your fucking dreams. Hands shaky and uncoordinated with a combination of nerves and sheer fucking lust, you reach down to undo your belt buckle.

Jake’s huge hands close over yours, and he gently pushes them aside as he sits back, resting his weight on your thighs. Then he reaches out to undo the button, and you feel the backs of his fingers brush over your cock through your jeans as he tugs the zipper down. You barely bite back a scream at the sensation.

That seems to break whatever patience he had, because he is suddenly tearing down your jeans, tangling them around your shoes and trapping your legs together in his haste. He kicks off his hiking boots and when he shoves down his own shorts you see that _he’s not wearing any fucking underwear._

You swear your heart skips a beat when you see Jake’s cock, thick and long for a Beta, jutting out from the dark nest of curls at his groin. Fuck, you want nothing more than to take that gorgeous dick in your mouth, swallow it down, fucking _choke_ on it. Hands still shaking, you reach out for him.

He shudders hard when you circle your hand around him and holy fuck, _you’re touching Jake’s cock._

You have to reach down and grab yourself with your free hand to stop yourself from coming.

Jake’s breath hitches and he lets out a muttered but heartfelt _“Fuck.”_ You flush with embarrassment and dart a glance up to his face, where you see that he’s staring, enraptured, at your straining, cloth-covered erection. His gaze makes you feel hot all over, and you have to glance away, breathing hard.

You shudder and let out a ragged moan when Jake hooks his fingers into your underwear and pulls them down, dragging his knuckles agonizingly slowly over your skin. Your dick pops free with an almost comical springing motion, and you can’t decide whether you’re more aroused or embarrassed or if there’s really any fucking difference between the two.

Your feet are still tangled in the fabric around your ankles, which means you have no leverage, can’t even spread your legs for him. With your cock standing to attention in the cool air of the tunnel, you feel exposed, on display, all of it just for Jake English’s viewing pleasure, to do with as he likes, and _that_ is definitely arousing and you’re going to file that thought away for later masturbation material.

Jake’s lips meet yours in a searing kiss just as his hand closes around your cock. You try to buck up into the touch but his other hand and the weight of his body across your legs easily pin you down. There’s nothing you can do except moan into his mouth and shudder helplessly.

Well, that, and tighten your own grip on his dick, slowly pumping up and down.

Your effort is rewarded with Jake’s dizzy gasp, “Oh, _Dirk,”_ and Jesus shitting Christ you could get used to hearing your name on his lips like that.

A second later he adjusts his position where he’s straddling your body, slots your hips together so that your dicks slide against each other and oh fuck, oh _fuck_ that’s good, that’s _perfect._ He wraps a hand around you both, squeezing your cocks together, and braces himself against the wall behind your head as he starts thrusting hard and fast into his own fist.

The angle is such that you can barely fucking move, not even to push upward in time with his thrusts. You literally just have to lie there and take it, accept the pace he sets, fast and hot and hard. All you can do is reach up and wrap your arms around his back and hold on.

You won’t be able to hold on much longer.

“Jake,” you whisper, your voice shaking. He doesn’t slow, actually picks up the pace a bit, thrusting so wildly and forcefully you can feel his balls slapping lightly against yours. He grunts with effort and almost pushes you across the floor, and that’s it for you.

You moan loudly as you come, your knot suddenly swelling in his fist and your massive load making the skin between you wet and slippery. Blinding hot pleasure fills your body, makes every muscle tense and relax in the glorious frisson of release. It’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve ever had.

It gets even better when Jake stops thrusting and just clenches his fist tight around your knot.

You lose any control you may have had over your voice, screaming hoarsely as the sparking bliss of orgasm _just keeps going_. Your eyes roll back in your head and everything goes white as you paint yourself with load after load of come. Your whole body shakes with the force of it, and for what feels like a small eternity, you lose all concept of anything outside of the brilliant pressure around your knot and the overwhelming pleasure rolling through you.

When you have finally regained enough composure to pry your eyes open again, it is to the arresting sight of Jake aggressively stripping his cock, masturbating furiously while staring down at you. His face screws up, mouth opening to let out a low cry, and his come spatters onto your chest and mixes with the sticky load you already left there.

A second later he collapses onto you, burying his nose into your shoulder.

The rapidly-cooling come is getting tacky and gross, smeared between your bellies like particularly pungent glue. But you don’t have the energy or coordination to even move a hand right now, too overwhelmed and exhausted from your orgasm. You just lie, bonelessly, on the floor of the tunnel, your pants still tangled up with your shoes, which are still on your feet, and your heavy boyfriend on your chest making it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Despite all this, you don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your damn life, the smell of Jake’s enjoyment surrounding you like a warm blanket.

After several minutes while you lie together and both try to get your breath back, Jake raises his head and kisses you, languid and slow, like the two of you have all the time in the world.

“Well,” he rumbles, deep in his chest. “That was a real doozy.”

“Yeah,” you say. “It sure was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter frequency is almost certainly going to go down for a little while here again because the r key on my keyboard is broken and I have to copy/paste every time I want to write an r, which let me tell you is EXTREMELY ANNOYING.


	7. Alpha Instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane lets Dirk know she's about to go into heat, which raises some concerns for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so long I had to split in two, and then I had to split the first chapter in two _again._ So this is basically just the beginning of a whole narrative arc.
> 
> Also, as of today, I've written more than 100k words of fic written that *aren't* deleted scenes. i have a *lot* of stuff coming that I'm very, very excited about. Including the rest of this arc.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Intrusive thoughts

You get a Pesterchum alert one day while you and Jake have split up in order to cover more ground. You didn’t particularly _want_ to leave him to his own devices, but… well, you have a feeling you’re getting a little possessive. And Jake can totally handle himself - after all, he managed for years alone on that island.

(And if you and the auto-responder put together a monitoring program to keep an eye on him and give you regular updates on his location and wellbeing, well, you’re his boyfriend. You think you’re allowed.)

So when you get the notification, you immediately open up your phone and check it.

You’re a little surprised when, instead of the expected green, blue text you haven’t seen in a little while lights up the screen.

GG: Hello, Dirk.  
GG: I just thought I’d let you know I’ve gone into pre-heat and my full heat will probably start some time tomorrow morning.  
GG: I’d appreciate it if you could pass the message on to Jake.  
GG: I… don’t really care to deal with him right now.

Suddenly, your palms feel slick with sweat, and your heart is in your throat. The sensation hits you so fast you almost have trouble processing _why_ you feel like this, but you figure it out after a bit.

Jane is going into heat. Your pack is going to be _vulnerable_. You’re responsible for her, and your Omega needs protection. The Alpha in you wants to be at her side _immediately,_ to defend her.

TT: Yeah, of course I can let him know.  
TT: Are you okay? Do you need anything?  
GG: I’m fine, Dirk, it’s just pre-heat.  
TT: You’re sure?  
GG: Dirk, you’re sweet, but I don’t need you to hover over me!  
GG: I’ve already gotten quite enough of that from Roxy.  
TT: I still think I’m gonna come over today.  
GG: You don’t have to! I’m perfectly capable of handling myself for a single day of pre-heat!  
GG: :B  
TT: If it’s any consolation, I’m not really coming over for your sake.  
TT: I mean, I am, but it’s more a me issue.  
GG: Alpha instincts?  
TT: Yeah.  
GG: Mm. Dad always got a little clingy, too.  
GG: All right then. As long as you promise not to be weird about it!  
TT: I’ll do my best, but I don’t really know what qualifies as “weird” here, Jane.  
GG: I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?  
GG: Well, I’ll be sure to let you know then!  
TT: I’ll always have you to keep me on the straight and narrow, huh, Jane?  
GG: You bet your bottom dollar, buster!

You smile, swipe your hands on your pants and open up a new Pesterchum window.

\-- timaeusTestified began pestering golgothasTerror at ??:?? --  
TT: Hey.  
TT: Where are you right now?

Red text shows up behind your shades.

TT: He’s about two miles south of you, sitting on one of the slabs.  
TT: I asked him, not you.  
TT: Bro, if you’re going to have a constant stalker cam watching his every move, you might as well take advantage of it.  
TT: I’m not stalking him.  
TT: You kind of are, though.

You’re spared the repetition of a conversation about privacy and creepiness factor you’ve had a dozen times since you set up the monitoring program when Jake answers you.

GT: Oh, just kicking about here and there!  
GT: Why whats the hullaballoo?  
TT: Jane’s going into heat tomorrow.  
GT: Gadzooks! Do you suppose shes all right?  
TT: She says she’s fine. I’m still heading over to LOCAH right now.  
TT: You coming with?

There’s an almost disconcertingly long pause.

TT: He’s just staring at the screen, biting his lip, thumb hovering over the keyboard.  
TT: He’s also started to reply three times and then erased them.  
TT: This level of granular detail really wasn’t what I wanted you to monitor.  
TT: That really _is_ an invasion of his privacy.  
TT: But you were wondering, weren’t you?

Jake’s reply finally comes through before you can get into an argument with the responder.

GT: Why dont you go on without me?  
GT: Ill catch up with you and janey and roxy tomorrow!

Something tightens in your chest, and you draw a sharp breath.

You don’t like the idea of leaving Jake all alone on this planet. You can barely stand letting him wander off on his own when you’re only a few miles away. Something primal claws at your brain, saying you _can’t_ let your mate out of your sight that long.

Something equally primal and instinctive screams, _Jane’s going into heat. You need to be there for your Omega. She’ll die if you’re not there to protect her._

Then you take a second to examine the way that incongruous thought was worded.

 _Your_ Omega.

That’s a weirdly possessive way for you to think about Jane, and what’s more, you’re pretty sure it’s new.

Yeah, okay, she’s part of your pack, and in that sense you do feel like she’s yours. But you don’t usually think of her in those specific terms, don’t think of her as your _Omega_. And besides, neither Jake nor Roxy are “your Beta.” Granted, that could just be because you have two of them in the pack, but only one Omega.

Still, you don’t know why your brain is suddenly thinking of Jane as your Omega, when you’ve never thought that before.

And then it hits you.

You’re an Alpha.

You’ve never been around an Omega in heat before.

And Jane’s not related to you.

You firmly believe that people who claim that Alphas just can’t _control_ themselves around Omegas in heat are talking bullshit. There’s no excuse for sexually assaulting someone, “instincts” be damned. It’s a perpetuation of misogynist rape culture, and you’re not going to fall for it.

Just because instinctive attraction might make someone feel a certain way, doesn’t mean they have to act on it, especially not when the other person hasn’t consented.

At least, you’ve always thought it was bullshit _before_.

However, you have pretty good evidence that you, specifically, actually _can’t_ control your Alpha instincts. Or, rather, you have great difficulty controlling them and can only just barely manage to keep back, sometimes only by literally _locking yourself up_. You don’t know if it’s because of your utter lack of socialization, or how fucked up your ruts are, or just something off about _you_ in particular but… it’s almost impossible for you to hold yourself back by willpower alone.

If you could actually control your instincts, you wouldn’t be forced to chain yourself to your bed during your rut. You wouldn’t have to fight to keep down a growl every time one of your pack members smells scared. You wouldn’t have set up the monitoring program out of paranoid fear for Jake’s life.

You’re already getting possessive just from hearing secondhand that Jane is going into heat. What if smelling Jane’s heat-scent makes you instinctively drawn to her?

What if you wind up trying to do something you can never forgive yourself for?

Suddenly, you’re not so eager to visit LOCAH.

While you’ve been lost in these disturbing thoughts, Jake’s sent you a few messages.

GT: Is that all fine and dandy mr strider?  
GT: ...dirk?  
GT: Are you still there?  
TT: Yeah, sorry, I just got lost in thought.  
TT: I’m thinking now actually I might wait until tomorrow to go over.  
TT: Jane sounded like she was getting a bit frustrated with Roxy getting overprotective, she doesn’t need me around doing the same thing.  
GT: Oh.  
GT: Well thats likely for the best! We certainly wouldnt want to upset jane right before her heat!  
TT: I’ll meet you at your house tonight?  
GT: Sure!  
GT: See you then!  
\-- golgothasTerror ceased pestering timaeusTestified \--

You message Jane to let her know about the new plan. She seems surprised you changed your mind, but not upset. You promise to swing by with Jake early tomorrow morning, and sign off.

You don’t tell her your concerns about your Alpha instincts. Maybe you should. Maybe you should warn her that you don’t know how your body will react. But you agree with Jake - it would be a really bad idea to upset her right before her heat.

Still, _someone_ should know that you could be dangerous to her.

\-- timaeusTestified began pestering tipsyGnostalgic at ??:?? --  
TT: Roxy, do you have a minute?  
TG: heya dirk! long time no see  
TG: wait this is atually you and not hal right?  
TG: *actually  
TT: It’s actually me.  
TG: i thought so hal pretty much always uses red these days  
TT: Has he really started going by Hal? Seriously?  
TG: sorta?  
TG: he doesnt seem to like being called ar but he hasnt really given me anything else to work with  
TG: and its weird just calling him dirk cuz thats you  
TG: it may have been a jake but hals the best thing i got  
TG: lmao *joke but fr thats a great typo  
TT: He didn’t tell me.  
TG: yeah i think theres a lot he doesn’t tell you  
TT: Okay, that’s a troubling sentence and I’d like to revisit that in the future.  
TT: But that’s not actually why I wanted to talk with you.  
TG: yeah lay it on me  
TG: i am all ears  
TG: got my fingers all ready to be typin hells of sympathetic mm-hmms  
TG: gonna get my friend on  
TG: i can litsen so good ur gonna shit urself  
TG: *listen  
TG: ...  
TG: uh dirk?  
TG: i just told you im listenin so hard my ass is bout to fall off  
TG: r u actually gonna say smth?

You can’t tell her.

She’d be so disappointed that you’re buying into the Alpha knothead bullshit, seeing as she’s the one who pointed the sexism of that myth out to you in the first place. She’d lose all faith in you, and you just can’t hurt her like that. You _can’t_ hurt Roxy, because you already hurt her all the time anyway.

And besides, you don’t really need to warn her, because you’re certain she and Jake would intervene immediately if you tried to pull something.

At least, you _hope_ they would intervene.

TT: Never mind. I’m just worrying about nothing.  
TG: lmao you do do that a lot  
TG: janes heat got you a little freaked?  
TT: Yeah.  
TG: me too  
TG: shes over here smelling super sweet and alchemizing blankets and shit  
TG: been at it for hours  
TG: and she keeps saying shes fine but im like girl you are going into HEAT  
TG: ive been cleaning the house like nonstop and tbqh i think shes a little pissed at me  
TT: Yeah, she told me.  
TT: I want to be there, too, but I think I’d be even worse, so I’m waiting until tomorrow.  
TG: lol you would totes go overbored  
TG: *overboard  
TG: naw actually you’d be hella boring  
TG: absolute snoozefest  
TT: Probably.  
TT: I’ll see you tomorrow.  
TG: later dirk!  
\-- timaeusTestified ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic \--

Signing off with Roxy leaves you feeling hollow. There’s no one you can talk to about this, because there’s no way you’re telling Jake you think your hormones might make you cheat on him. That’s like the crappiest excuse you can think of.

You’re tempted to reach out again to Jane, because she at least has experience with a protective Alpha, and might have some ideas what to do.

But you still don’t want to upset her.

Instead, you alchemize a set of handcuffs and stew quietly for the whole rest of the day.


	8. Settled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Jake have some identity-affirming sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally just 3500+ words of slightly angsty porn. I didn't intend to write this, but by golly I'm gonna post it anyway. I think it works, tbqh.
> 
> Also, I was having trouble navigating these fics, so I added chapter titles to this, The Screaming Echoes of Your Past, and Just Because I'm Moving Doesn't Mean I'm Not a Corpse, so that I could figure out which chapter was what more easily.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Underage sex (they're both 16 in this chapter), under-negotiated sex, under-negotiated kink, oral sex, anal sex, rough sex, deep-throating, dom/sub undertones, hair pulling

Jake comes back to the house late that night, so late that you almost begin to worry about him. If it weren’t for the regular updates from the monitoring program, letting you know he’s safe and wandering out among the mounds, you probably would have panicked by now and mounted a search and rescue party. Even as it is, you’re a little antsy when you finally hear the tread of his boots on the stairs.

You meet him before he’s even halfway up the steps and pull him to you, devouring his mouth in a heated kiss.

 _ **This** is me_, you find yourself thinking, even as Jake murmurs in surprise. _I love Jake. I want Jake. I’m not attracted to Jane._

You say it over and over again in your head, as if by repeating it and believing it hard enough, you’ll make sure it stays true, even as you’re terrified that once the scent of an Omega in heat fills your nostrils, it won’t be, anymore.

Your enthusiasm for the kiss has clearly taken Jake by surprise. You’re not normally the one who initiates the more romantic stuff, mostly because of how quickly touching turn unpleasant, for you. But tonight you need to feel settled in who you are. You need to _know_ what you really want. To remind yourself that _this_ is what you really want.

 _The auto-responder flirted with Roxy,_ you find yourself thinking. _He didn’t have any problem indulging her, didn’t feel any conflict. And he’s practically you._

You take off your shades, captchaloguing them, because you don’t want to even _think_ about the auto-responder right now, much less see his text. Then you wrap an arm around Jake’s back and pull him closer to you, slotting your hips together and deepening the kiss. 

You don’t fuck with granular identity politics. You don’t _care_ whether or not you’re gay. It doesn’t fucking matter, in the grand scheme of things, not when there’s only like four human beings left alive. You’re attracted to Jake. You’re not attracted to Roxy or Jane. That’s just how things are, and you don’t need to pull some kind of identity crisis into it. If things changed, you’d be fine.

Except that Jane’s an Omega, and she’s going into heat, and you _don’t know what that will do to you._ You don’t want it to turn you into something you’re not.

Maybe you do care about identity politics. Or maybe you’re just afraid of change.

You drag Jake up to his bedroom, walking backward, never breaking the kiss. When your knees hit the edge of his bed you fall willingly onto it, pulling Jake down on top of you. He stands between your legs and leans across your body, and you can feel him starting to harden beneath his shorts, his hands braced to either side of your chest.

 _This_ is what you want, Jake’s cock rubbing against your thigh, the deep earthy smell of him capturing your senses completely, his tongue in your mouth, your hands in his hair. You push your hips up toward him, encouraging him further.

Jake breaks the kiss off with a gasp, breathing hard. His face is already flushed with blood, his lips swollen and wet. He shifts his hips slightly and you spread your legs wider, hooking one foot behind his knee. You tangle your hands in his hair and he smiles down at you.

“Eager tonight, aren’t we?” he says, trailing one hand down your body to play with the edge of your shirt and rub his thumb over the tiny bit of bare skin he reveals at your hip. “Though it is getting a tad late, you know. I half expected you to be asleep already!”

You shake your head. “I want you,” you say, pulling his face down so that it’s only inches from yours and murmuring against his lips. “I _need_ you.”

He kisses you again, using one hand to lift your shirt and trails his fingers over your stomach. You whine into his mouth and arch your back to press up into the touch. He responds by pulling back and ghosting his hand over your skin, so light it’s almost not there. Goosebumps prickle across your arms at the almost-ticklish sensation. You whine again and he fucking _chuckles_ against your lips.

God, _fuck_ this foreplay bullshit. You know exactly what you want, and you want it _now._

You wrap your hands around Jake’s shoulders and roll the both of you over, so that he’s lying flat on his back, spread out beneath you, with you kneeling on top of him at the edge of the bed. Jake lets out a startled cry, but you ignore it, sitting back on your heels and ripping your shirt off. Then you bend forward again and push Jake’s shirt up.

After a second or two of breathless confusion, Jake sits up and starts to help, shrugging out of his jacket and lifting his arms so you can pull his shirt over his head. As soon as it’s gone you capture his lips in another heated kiss, teasing your tongue along his bottom lip.

Then you slide off the bed and let your knees hit the floor.

The bulge in Jake’s shorts is starting to strain the spandex. You grab his knee with one hand to steady yourself and lean forward, kissing the fabric at the top of his dick. Then you mouth up and down the whole length of the shaft, saliva pooling behind your tongue, leaving a dark wet patch all along the front of his crotch.

Jake moans loudly, and then props himself up on his arms so he can watch you. You shudder with arousal as his deep green eyes train on you and you lick long strokes from the base of his cock to the tip, tongue flat and wide around him. The fact that Jake is watching you, all his attention trained on you, is so hot. With the hand not on Jake’s knee, you run your fingers up the line of your cock through your jeans and moan into him.

Jake grunts and his hips pop forward, bumping you in the nose. You pull back, startled, and he growls deep in his throat, grabbing the edge of his shorts with both thumbs. He yanks them down, and once they’re within easy reach you take over, sliding them down his calves and off. As soon as his feet are free, he wraps his legs around you, his feet meeting in the small of your back like a hug.

In response, you clutch his hips with both hands and slip the tip of his cock into your mouth.

You’re still not very good at this, a fact which irritates you. Jake is always bigger and more difficult to wrap your mouth around than you expect, and for a second you struggle with your lips, trying to wrap them over your teeth so that you don’t accidentally bite him. You can’t quite manage all this with both your hands occupied, you just don’t have the coordination, so you let go of one hip to grab the base of his cock and steady him as you suck him down.

You may not be very skilled, but your enthusiasm apparently makes up for it, if the way Jake throws his head back and lets out a shameless moan of delight is any indication.

This is what you want. This is where you were meant to be. On your knees in front of Jake English, sucking his cock, knowing you’re the only one who gets to hear these sounds from his throat.

 _All mine,_ you think with satisfaction.

Now that his dick is firmly in your mouth and you have a bit of a rhythm going, you can let go of the base. You move forward until the tip of his cock just barely tickles the back of your throat, and then pull back until he almost slips out, so you can flick the tip of your tongue across the frenulum and around the edges of the head. Jake cries out again and his hips jerk involuntarily.

You can’t help the moan at the sudden movement, the knowledge that Jake is so turned on right now he can’t control himself. Reaching out blindly, you grab his hand, moving it to the top of your head.

Tentatively, Jake grips your hair, tugging experimentally. When you moan around his cock and move to swallow more of him down, he pulls harder, which makes you moan louder. Soon enough the two of you have a rhythm established where you sink down around his cock until it just touches the back of your throat, and he drags you back to the tip by the hair. The slight pain is so good you can’t help moaning every time.

On the next thrust, you decide to take it one step farther.

When his dick hits the back of your throat, you don’t let him pull you off with a yank to your hair. Instead, you try to swallow.

He’s big. There’s no getting around that, and your gag reflex comes into play fast, warning you that you’re trying to take in something that’s just too damn large, could block your windpipe, could choke you. Your throat seizes up and you _still_ try to keep going because goddammit _you want this._

Jake moans. “Oh fuck _,”_ he gasps. “Oh fuck fuck fuck, _Dirk.”_

His hips jerk forward, and instead of pulling you off, he uses his grip on your hair to pull you _down._

It makes you go hot and tingly all over, _unbearably_ turned on, even as you almost choke, as his dick forces itself into your throat and you gag, unable to breathe. He pulls back almost immediately, his hand petting your hair soothingly, and you cough wetly, lines of drool spilling down your chin.

“Shit, I’m sorry—” Jake begins, but you cut him off.

“Do that again,” you say, your voice rough. “Fucking _do that again._ ”

He looks at you for a moment, and you look back up at him. His pupils are blown wide, making his eyes look dark, and his expression is unreadable.

Then he tangles his hand in your hair and pulls your lips to the tip of his dick.

You open up and jam yourself onto his cock.

Jake fucks your mouth. He can’t really get a good rhythm going, because you keep gagging and coughing and sometimes you need a minute to catch your breath and swallow hard so that you don’t actually puke, but he’s _fucking your mouth_. You both moan every time he pulls you down, his hips thrusting up into you. You feel like a rag doll, letting yourself go limp and your throat open, giving yourself over entirely to Jake.

As he seems to be getting close, his breath coming in short little gasps and trying to thrust faster, you pull back. He just barely manages to cut off a whine of disappointment that makes you feel _powerful_ , like you have the ability to turn his pleasure off and on at a whim. Like he’s _yours._

“Fuck me,” you say. “God, Jake, I need you to fuck me.”

Jake’s eyes grow impossibly wider, and he nods frantically.

You stand up, surprised at how stiff you suddenly feel, how sore your knees and jaw are. Your dick is straining so hard against your jeans that it actually hurts, and you’re certain there’s a wet spot where precome has left stains on your underwear. You slip both pants and underwear down and decaptchalogue a bottle of lube you’ve had for weeks but haven’t yet used for the purpose you intended.

Jake scoots back as you crawl up onto the bed, watching you, watching your dick, with an expression that looks like _hunger._ “Can I…?” he says, reaching for the bottle.

Your throat feels dry, and not only because Jake’s cock was just pumping down it. “Yeah,” you say, and hand it over. Then you turn away, bracing yourself on your elbows.

A tentative hand runs over one cheek, and you shudder in anticipation, _knowing_ what’s coming. Your dick twitches beneath you. You hear the pop as Jake opens the lube bottle and the following squelch as he squirts some into his hand.

You’ve done this to yourself before, of course you have, you’ve known you liked guys and taking it up the ass for _years_. It still feels new and strange and breathtakingly different when Jake spreads your cheeks and rubs one finger slowly around your opening.

“Jake,” you grunt, when he just keeps rubbing but goes no further, driving you _mad_ with desire. “Fucking get on with it.”

He rubs a little bit longer, as if to spite you, and then moving oh-so-slowly, slides the tip of his finger inside. You let out a breathless moan.

Fuck, just the fact that _Jake_ is fingering you already makes it so good. He’s nowhere even near your prostate yet, but the slow way he slides into you makes you feel like you’re floating. Your shoulders shake and you clench, just to feel him inside you.

“Dirk?” Jake asks, quietly, his finger stilling.

“Keep going,” you say, your voice sounding like sandpaper. “Fuck, it’s so good, Jake.”

He pulls out a bit, and you want to whine and drag him back, but then a second finger is pushing at your entrance and you feel like all the air has been punched out of your lungs.

Two fingers is so much bigger than just one, and it’s almost too much, because he hasn’t been at this long, and you’re not really ready. But the stretch of it, the way he keeps slowly forcing them inside you, inexorable, relentless, makes you feel like you only exist for him, you were made for his pleasure, you belong to him.

Fuck, you want to belong to Jake so fucking bad.

Your shoulders are shaking again, and you drop your forehead to the mattress below you, breathing hard. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you whisper, like the slow slide of his fingers inside you is pushing the words out of your mouth.

Then those fingers glide over your prostate, and you _shout._

“Good?” Jake asks, but he sounds so fucking smug, because he already knows the answer is _yes_ , and you can smell the sweet self-satisfaction in his scent.

You nod your head frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without your voice cracking, and he slides those fingers back over your prostate again. You let out a strangled cry of pleasure, unable to suppress it, and clench your hands in the fabric of his sheets.

Jake pulls his fingers out, and you whine in annoyance, but he just dumps more lube onto his hand and then pushes back in. He rubs slowly all around your walls, not paying any special attention to your prostate, but not avoiding it either, and each little jolt of pleasure makes you shudder and curse.

It feels like he goes at it for hours. You’re so turned on you can’t think straight, certain that a single hand on your dick would set you off. By the time he pulls his fingers out again, you’re a shaking mess, barely able to control your gasping. To be fair, Jake’s not much better, his breathing hard and heavy.

You hear him decaptchalogue something, and then he lets out a shaky sigh, and your brain automatically supplies, _He’s putting on a condom._

A second later, there’s the pop of the bottle cap and the slick, rhythmic sound of Jake lubing up his cock. You swallow in anticipation as his hands come to rest on your hips.

“You ready?” he whispers, and you nod your head against the mattress.

“Yeah,” you say, and you know your voice sounds broken, but fuck, you want this _so bad_ , and you need him to know that.

“Okay.” One hand leaves your hip, and then the tip of his cock is at your entrance, and you moan long and low and loud as he ever-so-slowly pushes in.

Jake used copious amounts of lube - you can feel it sliding down the backs of your thighs as his dick slowly but steadily enters. He’s so big and you’re so _full_ , and god, it feels so good, he’s _inside you_ , and all you want to do is just keep him there. You want to hold your breath but force yourself to keep breathing, to not clench up around him, because you could hurt yourself.

“Ffffffuck,” Jake moans as he fills you up, until his hips touch your asscheeks and he leans over your back, so low you can feel his hot breath against your shoulder blade. You both pause there for a minute, shaking, trying to settle into this.

Then Jake pulls back out - as achingly slowly as he went in - and pushes forward again. This time, the angle is such that he grazes perfectly over your prostate.

If you didn’t already have your face pressed to the sheets with your whole forearm braced to hold yourself up, you think your elbows would have given out. As it is, you cry out in pleasure and thunk your head onto the mattress a few times, fisting your hands in the fabric, because god, it’s so good, it’s _so good_ , and you have to do _something_ to ground yourself or you’re going to fucking explode.

“Jake,” you keen, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes because you’re completely fucking overwhelmed. “Jake, fuck, oh fuck, _please_ Jake, fuck, fuck me…”

You keep babbling as Jake continues pistoning in and out of you, gradually picking up the pace. Soon enough he’s slamming into you with a shattering rhythm that turns your brain to oatmeal. You clench your eyes tight against the sheer overload of sensation, squeezing tears out to dampen the sheets below you.

Jake’s own voice has deepened to an almost animalistic growl. “Fuck, Dirk, you’re so good, so perfect, so fucking perfect for me,” he says, over and over again, his rough voice singing your praises with aggressive abandon, and yes, this is exactly what you want, what you _need_.

You practically sob against the mattress as he ruts into you, faster and more forcefully by the minute, until your knees slide across the bed with each thrust and your arms bump the wall. You’re no more able to brace against it than you are able to breathe underwater, your limbs turning to wet noodles under his ministrations.

His hips pound into you and he begins to stutter in his rhythm, his chanting words of praise transforming into a wordless growl. He’s getting close, you recognize the signs, and you want nothing more than to have him come inside you, to make him fall apart.

“Jake,” you say. “Jake, please, please, please, fuck me, do it, fuck, _please_ —”

He comes with a shout you’re now intimately familiar with, working through the aftermath with frantic thrusts in and out, hands clenching on your hips so hard you think you might bruise.

God you like the idea of Jake leaving marks on your skin.

He falls forward onto your back, still inside you, and you almost can’t take the weight of him, as shaky and fucked-out as you are. Your dick is still hard between your legs but if you spare a hand to stroke yourself, you’re going to collapse, so you just hold him up and _breathe_ , tears continuing to make their way down your cheeks as you shudder.

After a moment, Jake stirs, lifting himself up and pulling out of you. You whine at the loss, feeling empty and aching after the fullness of having him seated inside of you.

“Shh,” he murmurs, and then he prompts you to turn over. You fall gladly to your side under his direction, rolling onto your back beneath him.

Your eyes are still screwed shut when he leans down and kisses the tears trailing down your cheeks, and you let out a wail as his hand wraps around your neglected cock. One, two, three pumps and you’re coming, spurting out over your own chest and your knot swelling in his palm. He squeezes his fist tight around it as he always does and prolongs your orgasm until you almost can’t stand it.

He settles beside you as you lay there in the aftermath of your orgasm, spooning you as you lie there and try to get your breath back. His hand is still wrapped around your cock as your knot recedes and it’s now _absolutely_ too much and you whimper as you push him away. He reaches down between his own legs and you hear the snapping of rubber as he carefully removes the condom and ties it off.

Then he curls his arm around your stomach and pulls you tight to his chest, purring. The pleased rumble rattles your own body, and you want to melt against him, so you allow yourself to just let go, your head falling back against his shoulder. You’re too overwhelmed to open your eyes.

For several minutes, Jake’s warm purr and your shaky inhales as you try to catch your breath are all that can be heard.

“Good?” Jake finally says, the purr lacing through his voice.

You sigh. “Yeah,” you say. “It was just what I needed.”

And it was, because _this_ is who you are, the guy curled in his purring boyfriend’s arms after getting fucked to within an inch of his life. This is who you always wanted to be, where you were meant to go. This is you.

Whatever happens tomorrow, you’re going to hold tight to this and hope it can sustain you through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember kids, this is a work of fiction. irl you should never spring the idea of anal on your partner in the middle of sex and if you do decide to have anal sex, work up to it slowly. also. please just fucking _talk_ to each other, unlike these two emotionally constipated dumbasses.
> 
> okay i feel like i've sufficiently done the ethical safety disclaimer now.


	9. Losing All Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane goes into heat, and Dirk loses control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun fact: not only did I have to split what was originally going to be just one chapter into three, I also ended up completely re-writing this section because the original version didn't have quite the emotional impact I was going for. I like this chapter a _lot_ better now, and I'm so glad I get to share it! A little later than I originally wanted to post it, but what can you do.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Intrusive thoughts, anxiety, possessive behavior, loss of self-control

When you wake up the next morning, you sit cross-legged on the floor of Jake’s bedroom, close your eyes, and meditate. In your ruts, sometimes, if you have a single moment of peace, you can do this, breathe deeply, let your mind go blank, and you can hold onto that calm a little longer. You’re desperately hoping that technique will work in this situation.

The thoughts hit you one after another like a spray of bullets, and you try to let them go, allow them to drift out of your mind. You can’t let yourself hang onto them.

 _Jane’s in heat_ , you think, and _What if I attack her?_ And _What if I can’t control myself, what if Jake and Roxy can’t stop me, what if I want to fuck her, what if it changes me, I should stay away, but what if something hurts her, I have to be there, I have to protect her…_

In. Out. In. Out. Let them go. Let them pass. They’re clouds drifting across the sky of your mind, inconsequential. You acknowledge they’re there, examine the fear from the outside, but you don’t have to cling to them.

You’re finding it really difficult not to cling.

In. Out.

You hear the sounds of Jake stirring behind you, and you breathe out, releasing your focus and opening your eyes. Jake doesn’t get it, has never been able to understand meditation, and he has a tendency to interrupt you, whether he means to or not. You stand as he rises and stretches, watching you.

The two of you get dressed in mutual silence and head for the gate to LOCAH together all without saying a word.

Your heart rate picks up as you near the gate and you take deep, slow, deliberate breaths, trying to bring it down. Jake keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, and you are predictably terrible at reading body language or facial expressions, so you don’t know what he’s thinking. You wonder if he fears you’ll lose control as much as you do, or if the thought has even crossed his mind.

And then you’re through the gate, and there’s Jane’s quaint, picturesque house, floating on its balloon.

You and Jake land on the balcony. Jake moves to get the door, but you hang back, hesitating.

Once more, you try to take deep, calming breaths, but you find you can’t, a flare of anxiety stealing your control. You close your eyes, wrestling with your fear, even as you hear Jake make an inquisitive noise.

As soon as you go through that door, you will smell Jane’s heat scent. That’s when you’ll know whether your fears are founded or not. You _have_ to keep your head, retain your sense of peace, manage your instincts.

“Dirk?” Jake says. “Are you okay?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Then you brush past him and open the door.

Scent washes over you, sweet and sour and bitter, overwhelming in its power. You have a moment to think, _oh fuck_ , before your conscious brain is wiped by snarling Alpha instinct.

 _MINE,_ you roar silently.

You sprint down the hallway and leap off the balcony, a low growl rumbling through your chest. You drop to the ground in the center of the nest.

Jane is curled around Roxy, sobbing and clutching her shirt. The smell of her distress burns your nose like acid.

You’re her Alpha. You have to _fix_ this. You’re supposed to _protect_ her, take care of her, make sure she is always safe and provided for.

You flashstep across the room and fall onto your side next to Jane, gathering her up in a tight embrace and rubbing your face against her cheek to scent-mark her. You press your chest to her back, pull her flush against your body, and bracket her legs with your own.

She says something, but you can’t quite fully comprehend the words, your brain more bestial than human at the moment. You let out a soothing croon, feeling your chest vibrate, and nuzzle into her hair, petting her side.

Jane squirms, suddenly, in your arms and you growl possessively, tightening your grip on her waist, because she is _yours,_ you’re not letting her go. But she simply rolls over so that she can bury her head in your chest, her hands clenching in the fabric of your shirt. You go back to a comforting rumble, and reach up to stroke her hair gently.

A sour tinge has entered both Jake’s and Roxy’s scents - the barest hint of fear. Your heart clenches, because they should not be afraid, you are here and you will protect them, protect your Omega. They are _safe_ here, with you, because you’ll make damn well _sure_ they are safe.

You reach over Jane to Roxy, cupping her jaw with one hand and rubbing your thumb across her cheekbone, scent-marking her. The sourness doesn’t fade immediately, and you feel your own fear begin to spike. Where’s Jake? Why is your pack still afraid? What’s the threat? Something is terribly wrong and you don’t know how to fix it.

You can smell Jake and his sour fear, but you can’t see him. He is your mateand he could be in danger, and you feel your body tense, ready to leap to your feet and find him, defend him.

But at the same time, you can’t let your Omega go, not when she’s crying and holding you, distraught, and you have to protect her, too.

“Jake,” you say, your voice so low it’s almost a growl. “Come here.” If you can get your whole pack together in one place, you can defend them properly.

Your mate doesn’t obey right away, and you can smell the scent of his fear grow a bit stronger.

 _He’s in danger, he can’t come,_ you think, and a snarl of frustration escapes your throat, because you need to be in both places at once, but you _can’t_. _“Jake,”_ you growl, half-panicked, and you loosen your grip slightly on Jane because you must defend your mate, if he’s in danger, and you _will_ leave your Omega to do so as long as your other pack mate is here to protect her.

Then Jake lies down beside you, half curled around himself, and you breathe a sigh of relief. His hands brush your back, and the tips of his knees touch the back of your thighs. His fear scent is stronger than ever now, but you can’t help relaxing slightly, knowing he’s close enough to reach out and hold. You would be happier if you could see him, but he’s _here_ now, and your Omega needs you more, distressed and in heat.

Jane pops her head up, sniffing, and she lets out a whine. Then she’s trying to climb up and over your body to get to the final pack member she hasn’t had a chance to scent-mark yet.

Instead of letting your body become a barrier to what she needs, you lock your arms around her waist and roll with her, depositing her gently in Jake’s arms. She twists and curls into him, scenting the underside of his chin with her cheek. He still smells fearful, and he looks to you with wide eyes, as though asking your permission. You nod in response, and ever-so-slowly, watching you the whole time, he pulls her into a hug against his chest. Vaguely, you are aware that they’re speaking to each other, but you still can’t tell what they’re saying.

Jane’s sour fear has died down somewhat, though there’s still the bitterness of grief invading her scent. Still, the change in her scent and the presence of the rest of your pack gives you enough confidence to rise slowly to your feet. You have to protect them, and now that Jane is a little calmer, this is a good time to check the perimeter and redefine the pack’s territory.

The living room is uncomfortably exposed for your tastes - there are too many vectors of entry, and it’s going to take a long time before you’ve finished patrolling and reassure yourself that everything is secure. If it were up to you, you’d move the pack to a smaller room with only one or two entrances, where you could defend them more easily.

But your Omega built her nest here, and you wouldn’t dream of taking her from it, especially not when she’s so upset.

You do as quick a lap of the room as you can’t without feeling you’re neglecting something, scent-marking walls and doorways as a warning to anyone who would try to break in that you’re here, and you’re prepared to defend your pack with your goddamn life if you have to. This is your territory, your pack, _your Omega_.

After a few minutes, you hear a plaintive whine from Jane. “Dirk,” she says, and you can smell fear creeping back into her scent. “ _Alpha_. Please.”

You return immediately to the center of the nest, where you find Jake and Roxy bracketing her, curled around her like a pair of parentheses. Still, she pleads for you with a high-pitched whine, one hand reaching out in desperation from between the two of them.

You crawl on top of the pile, dipping your head to meet Jane’s hand and trying not to step on any of them. She sighs, and you press your forehead to hers, once more letting out a croon of reassurance. Carefully, so as not to squish her, you lay down on top of her, until your full weight is resting on her, and she rubs her cheek on yours.

As sourness and bitterness fade out of her scent, the sweetness intensifies, becomes so strong it’s almost overpowering.

Jane is fertile, ready to be bred, her scent advertising her receptivity to anyone willing to take advantage of that. In heat like this, her inhibitions are lowered, and with the fear gone her scent declares her desire to be mated, to be fucked, to put pups in her belly. She won’t, can’t, fight back if an aggressor comes to take her, even someone from outside her pack, because Omega instincts tell her that submitting will keep her safe.

She is so fucking vulnerable right now.

The thought of some other Alpha holding her down and mating her while she is defenseless like this makes you want to scream. Instead you growl and hold her more tightly, pressing your body down into hers. Jane is _your_ Omega, and nobody gets to touch her except your pack, and you’ll fucking kill anyone who tries. You cup a hand around the back of her head and press a gentle kiss to her temple, letting her know without words that you will _never_ leave her defenseless.

Jane sighs and presses her nose into the side of your neck, and for the first time in about half an hour, you can actually understand language beyond your name.

“Thank you,” she whispers into your skin. “Thank you for coming, I was so scared you weren’t going to come, I was so scared of being _alone_ …”

Your heart clenches. “Never,” you whisper back, your lips almost pressed to her ear. “I’d _never_ leave you alone, Jane.”

That’s when you finally gain back conscious control of your body.

The first thing you feel when your mind is yours again is _acute_ embarrassment, followed by a spike of guilt. You are suddenly incredibly aware that your chest is pressed to Jane's and you can feel her breasts, that your legs are tangled between hers, that both your faces and groins are uncomfortably close to each other. You freeze, feeling your cheeks heat up, and you want to pull away, to give her space.

But Jane doesn't seem to care about this gross invasion of her personal space, wrapping her arms around your neck and petting your hair almost exactly as you have been doing to her.

She starts talking again, unselfconsciously, and you have no idea how she can sound so normal when she has a 130-pound teenage Alpha male lying on top of her.

"I know, I know that now," she says, and right, you just told her you'd never leave her. "But Dad - he's usually here, for my pre-heat, and he wasn't, and now he's not here, and he's not _going_ to be here, and…"

As she trails off, she presses her forehead into your neck, as though hiding her face. "I just want my Dad," she whimpers, brokenly, and bitter sadness fills her scent. "I just want my _other_ Alpha."

An unexpected surge of jealousy practically electrocutes your brain, killing any other thoughts you might have. _Maybe_ , you think, surprising yourself with the sheer viciousness of it. _If he can’t fucking **be here** to protect his Omega while she’s in the middle of her fucking heat, he doesn’t fucking deserve her. **I’m** the Alpha who’s here for her right now, which makes Jane **mine.**_

You almost jump when Jake’s hand worms its way between your body and Jane’s, wrapping around her shoulders for a hug. He dips his head close to her and murmurs, “We know, Janey, we’re sorry. We’d bring him here if we could.”

 _I wouldn’t,_ you think, _Let the fucker rot for all I care_. But you don’t say it, because Jesus fucking Christ, that’s Jane’s Dad, she adores him, and what the fuck is wrong with you?

You just tuck Jane’s head under your chin and try not to feel self-conscious as you rub her arm soothingly.

The four of you lay there together long enough that you stop worrying about how weird you feel about Jane’s Dad right now, and start to reflect on how your Alpha instincts make you feel about Jane.

You got protective, and you’re now lying on top of her in a hot sweaty tangle of bodies that you would _never_ have agreed to in your right mind.

But you didn’t - and still don’t - want to have sex with her.

Despite how weird you still feel, despite her scent enticing anyone with a dick to come put pups inside her, despite the fact that she is literally _spread out beneath you_ with her body pressed flush to yours from chest to pelvis… you feel no more attracted to her than you did before you smelled her scent.

Her heat… _didn’t_ change you. It _didn’t_ make you lose control and attack her, it didn’t even make you instinctively lust after her like you were so afraid it would. You’re still exactly who you were yesterday, albeit a little more possessive than usual.

It’s honestly a relief.

And okay. You still want no truck with nitpicky identity politics in a world where society never fucking existed in the first place and labels are useless.

But… given the fact that you’re a healthy Alpha male in front of a fertile and objectively quite attractive young Omega woman in the middle of her heat, and you feel _nothing_ for her?

Maybe you _are_ a little gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*vibrates intensely*)


	10. Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk explores LOTAK and has a fight with the AR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me approximately seven tries to get this chapter right, which is why it's been so long. I think the word count of the deleted scenes might outnumber the *actual* chapter itself. That said, I do think I managed to hit the beats I wanted with the final version!
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and I hope this chapter does not disappoint!
> 
> Warnings: Possessive behavior, discussion of dub-con-ish situations

After Jane’s heat, you split up into your two separate groups again - the girls going off to LOPAN, while you and Jake go back to LOMAX. Something itches under your skin at the idea of leaving the girls - including _your Omega_ \- alone and unprotected, but you let them go regardless, because Jane keeps giving you pained glances whenever you put your arm around Jake, and that makes guilt rise up inside you like the waves of a storm surge.

So you separate. You spend a few weeks on LOMAX, run into a series of increasingly frustrating dead ends, and then head over to LOTAK, to start in on your own bizarre and annoying personal quest.

A quest which Jake keeps insisting you should work on _alone_.

When you point out to him that he didn’t work on _his_ quest alone, he stutters a bit.

“Well, I’m the Page of Hope!” Jake finally says. “And I think Hope is all about believing in your friends, so of course I had to have a friend with me on my quest! But isn’t Heart about the self? So it should be just _you_ when you do your quest!”

Flimsy reasoning at best, but it’s the reason you’re out here climbing up through one of the seemingly endless tower-dungeons without him.

In a sense, it _is_ just you out here, although you’re not exactly alone, either.

TT: According to the schematic we found in that last tomb, you should have just one more room to clear on this floor before you reach the stairs and can head up a level.  
TT: And that’s the highest level, so theoretically you should find the treasure hoard somewhere up there.  
TT: Got it.  
TT: What’s Jake’s status?

The AR doesn’t answer you right away. You’re no longer sure if he’s doing it deliberately to annoy you, or if it’s because the wireless signal on LOTAK is inexplicably terrible, and he’s having trouble accessing the feeds.

TT: He’s fine.  
TT: Mostly he’s been sitting around the apartment.  
TT: Talking to Roxy or Jane on his phone.  
TT: I bet you’d love to know what he’s saying about you.

Your heartrate picks up as you head into the final room, but not because you’ll be fighting near-unkillable monsters.

TT: Why?  
TT: What’s he saying about me?  
TT: Oh, I thought you didn’t want that level of granular detail?  
TT: That it was an invasion of privacy?  
TT: Fuck you.  
TT: Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll just ask him when I get back.  
TT: Really?  
TT: You’re going to sit down and say, “Oh hey, Jake, I’ve been having you constantly monitored 24/7 because I’m a creepy, possessive stalker, and I heard that you were talking about me behind my back, so what gives?”  
TT: I’m not stalking him.  
TT: Yeah you are, bro.  
TT: I’m _not._

And then you have to break your concentration on the conversation for a good long while, because the final room is jam-packed with gigantic skeletal creatures that just will _not_ lay down and die. You’ve gotten a lot better at fighting these things solo, and this dungeon is supposed to be an appropriate level for you, but damn if it doesn’t take forever.

When you finish fighting the monsters and you're panting hard, staring around the cleared room, red text flashes across the back of your shades again.

TT: You really kind of are, bro.  
TT: How is it stalking?  
TT: I just want to know that he’s safe.  
TT: This game is dangerous. If any one of these monsters got the drop on him they could kill him.  
TT: Making sure he’s okay is a perfectly reasonable thing for me to do.  
TT: Yeah?  
TT: Then why haven’t you told him about it?

You feel the tight clench of your teeth and deliberately relax your jaw before turning towards the stairs.

TT: You haven’t told him because you’re afraid he’d tell you to stop.  
TT: And you’re unwilling to take no for an answer when it comes to this.  
TT: Shut up.

You hold your sword at the ready as you exit out the stairwell into the final level, but there aren’t any monsters waiting to assail you. Weapon still raised, you creep cautiously forward, alert for sudden movement, odd shadows - anything that might indicate a skeletal creature lurking. You don’t see any when you glance around the hallway, but in your experience, apparently-empty corridors are rarely as deserted as they look.

You don’t encounter anything on your way to the first door, which you kick open, leaping forward with your katana at the ready, only to discover an empty greenish room, dusty from disuse. The lack of monsters is starting to worry you - it feels too much like the ambush back on LOMAX right before you and Jake had sex for the first time.

TT: Hate to change the subject, but does this level seem weirdly empty to you?  
TT: Yeah. Smells like a trap.  
TT: Keep your eyes peeled.  
TT: You think I’m not doing that already?  
TT: Hey, bro, I’m just looking out for you, all right?  
TT: I’m on your side here.

You are maybe stomping a little bit, breathing in and out with the ghost of a growl in your throat. But it’s fine, you have it under control.

TT: That’s such a fucking lie.  
TT: You and I both know you’ve never been on my fucking side.  
TT: That is hurtful and untrue.  
TT: I’ve done plenty of stuff to help you out in the past.  
TT: Hell, I _saved_ your sorry ass. Your whole _pack’s_ sorry ass.  
TT: If it hadn’t been for my brilliant plan you and Roxy would be rotting corpses four hundred years in the future.  
TT: Technically speaking, we _are_ both still rotting corpses.

Burying your own body in a shallow grave on LOPAN was one of the most morbid and surreal experiences of your life, which frankly, is saying quite a lot. It didn’t help at all that you were burying Roxy, too. Sometimes you still dream about dumping the corpses out of your sylladex and watching their limp forms tumble endlessly through the air.

Your corpse had been a lot less heavy than you had been expecting. Maybe because it didn’t have the weight of your head attached to it.

TT: Touché.  
TT: Still, the point is, your consciousness is alive and well.  
TT: Odd as you may find it, I _am_ actually concerned about your fucking wellbeing.  
TT: And I’m just looking out for you when I say that monitoring Jake is, in fact, stalkerish behavior.  
TT: You realize he sent you out here on that bullshit excuse of “Oh, Heart needs to be alone” because he’s sick and tired of how clingy you are, right?

You let out an explosive sigh and slam open another door, only to find the room behind just as empty as the previous one.

TT: Yeah.  
TT: I know.  
TT: Are you really so deluded that you don’t see the fucking disconnect here?  
TT: I know, all right?  
TT: I fucking know.  
TT: Call it whatever the fuck you want, maybe it I am a fucking stalker for watching him, but I can’t...   
TT: You can’t stop watching.  
TT: Like I said. You haven’t told him about it because you already know you won’t actually take no for an answer.  
TT: And if you don’t ask, he can’t tell you no.  
TT: So you won’t have to violate his consent.  
TT: Christ, you’re making me sound like some kind of monster.  
TT: Aren’t you?  
TT: …I just want him to be safe.  
TT: You know, sometimes I think Roxy was right on the money six years ago.  
TT: When she called us a fucking knothead.

The term makes you suck in a sharp breath and stop dead in the corridor.

TT: It’s not sexual.  
TT: It’s not.  
TT: I’d never fucking do that to him.  
TT: I’m just trying to make sure he’s safe, not ogling him in the shower or tying him to my bed so he can’t get away or some shit like that.  
TT: I wouldn’t fucking _rape_ him.  
TT: Jesus, bro, hold your horses, that’s not what I meant.  
TT: Although the fact that your brain immediately jumped to rape does not inspire great confidence here.  
TT: I’m just saying, when it comes to Jake, I think you’re thinking with your hormones, not your brain.  
TT: Oh, and I suppose you think you’re more objective because you don’t have hormones?  
TT: ...Well, frankly, yeah.  
TT: Fuck off.

You procede to stomp down the hallway, smashing open doors you come across and feeling both un-fucking-surprised and extremely frustrated when each one reveals only a dusty room. You would fucking _love_ to smash a monster’s brains open right now.

There aren’t any, so you keep getting easily distracted by flashing red text.

TT: Case in fucking point here.  
TT: You’re really just gonna recklessly charge forward because you’re pissed at me telling you the truth?  
TT: Whatever happened to, “These monsters are fucking dangerous,” bro?  
TT: See, when I get angry, I don’t do _this shit._  
TT: Here you are, throwing a fucking temper tantrum like a toddler because you know I’m fucking right.  
TT: What does this even accomplish, besides potentially putting yourself in needless danger?  
TT: I don’t have a physical body, bro. Throwing your weight around does not intimidate me.  
TT: If you’d take a moment to chill the fuck out, you’d realize that.  
TT: Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?

You reach up with a free hand, grab the edge of your shades, and tap the switch to turn off the text overlay.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you ignore it. You don’t need the AR for this.

You still don’t find any monsters. Finally, you reach the last door and throw it open, half-desperate for _something_ to kill.

Inside, there are stacks upon stacks of bookshelves.

Oh, this has got to be a fucking joke.

This was a fucking _lore quest_ the entire goddamn time.

You can’t keep in the impotent snarl of rage, and proceed to tear into the books, ripping them off the shelves and snatching out whole pages of nonsense that are all going to tell you the same bullshit line about how the Nobles Must Wait for Those Who Are to Come.

Then you collapse in on yourself, sinking to the floor, hugging your knees to your forehead, shredded paper littering your feet. There’s no one to hear you, not even the fucking AR, so you give yourself permission to sob as tears leak down your face.

Everything is falling apart, and it seems no matter how hard you try, there’s nothing you can do to stop it from all tumbling down.


	11. Threat to Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk's goes into rut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter written for _months_ and I am so excited I finally get to post it, you have no FUCKING idea. I've been sitting on it mostly because I wanted to have the next chapter finished and ready to go before posting this... but I can't wait anymore.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, panic attack, possessive behavior

Waking up in a blind panic, unable to move, has become almost as routine as eating and sleeping and breathing. You stare up into your dark ceiling, heart racing, your bare chest feeling like someone has set a boulder on it. You don’t hear any terrifying, unintelligible whispers today, but that doesn’t make the experience much better.

This is the awful, unbearable herald of your rut. The only good thing to be said about it is that it at least lets you know what’s coming. Granted, it doesn’t give you much notice, but if you didn’t have this early warning system, you might not be able to restrain yourself in time.

When you can move your shaking limbs again, you rise up off your bed, crossing the room to your closet.You very deliberately leave your shades lying on the desk where you set them last night, and ignore the quick, repeated chimes that ring through the room. You're not interested in dealing with his fucking bullshit today - not when you're about to start rutting.

Your handcuffs are buried under a pile of old robot junk and clothes, but you find them eventually. They feel so heavy as you hold them, and you wish, just as you do _every_ time you rut, that you didn’t have to do this.

A few seconds later, you’re sitting back on the edge of your bed. You slip one cuff around your right wrist and snap it shut with a terribly final clicking noise. Then you just stare down at your hand for a long, long time.

Your rut is hitting faster and harder than it normally does, you realize abruptly, because you’re already sweating and panting, feeling like you can’t get enough air. The savage creature inside of you that always demands you find a pack is already screaming in the back of your brain, and you won’t be able to resist it much longer if you don’t hurry.

You snap the other end of the handcuff around your headboard before instincts take over and force you to do something that’s going to kill you. With shaking fingers, you set the key down in its customary, difficult-to-reach position.

You settle into the bed, try to breathe deep, to center yourself, closing your eyes.

“Dirk? Is everything all fine and dandy in there?” says a voice, and your eyes fly open in sheer astonishment.

Jake English pushes open the door to your bedroom without knocking, which is incredibly rude, but hey, you have similar trouble remembering to knock on closed doors, so you understand. You have it on good authority that Roxy has the same problem, and that Jane has taken to wedging things under the handle of her door at night.

You’re rambling in your own head, because you’re having trouble comprehending what you’re seeing.

Jake English stands in the doorway, tiny little booty shorts hugging his ass, and the rich, earthy smell of him fills your nostrils. You blink at him, still working your head around the fact that he’s _here_.

That’s right. You brought him with you to LOTAK. You’re not out in the middle of the ocean anymore - you’re inside the game.

You forgot that you have a pack. You forgot that you have a fucking _boyfriend._

_You don’t have to go through your rut_ _alone_.

The surge of euphoria that fills you at that thought actually splits your face into a huge grin that you can’t control at all.

Jake pulls a face at you, looking a little freaked out. “Dirk, what…?” he asks, trailing off. His eyes land on the cuffs, and you see his nose twitch as he tries to read your scent. “Am I, er, interrupting something?”

“No, no, _fuck_ no,” you say. “Hang on a sec, sorry, shit.”

Working quickly, you grab the key and unlock your wrist, excitement running through you like a live current through a wire as you pull your hand out. You have a _pack_. You have a _boyfriend_.

You get up and make your way to the door where Jake still stands, staring at your bare chest. It feels good to have him watch you, and the Alpha inside you can’t help but preen and show off for him as you walk, flexing your abs. Standing right in front of him, there’s a weird kind of thrill that goes through you when you realize he has to look up to meet your eyes.

Jake takes in a deep sniff, his eyebrows crawling higher on his forehead. “You smell… different,” he says.

“I’m rutting,” you say. By this point, you’re used to the way your voice gets deeper and rougher when you rut, but you are gratified to see the little shiver go through Jake and his pupils expand. Before you can stop yourself you reach out, grab the back of his head, and tilt his face up for a kiss.

Fuck, you love kissing Jake, but it’s better than ever like this, with all of your senses on high alert. You can taste his scent on your tongue, and the screaming creature inside you crows in triumph. His lips are slightly chapped, and you lift your other hand to cup his cheek and angle his jaw and just drink him in.

When your lips part for air, you don’t pull back from him, but instead keep moving forward, letting your lips trail over his cheeks and rubbing your face over the glands in his jaw. That intoxicating earthy scent merges into your skin, and you shudder, your knees suddenly weak.

You practically fall onto Jake’s shoulders, leaning far too much of your body weight on him. His hands move almost reflexively to catch you, one hand going to your hip and the other pressing against your spine. Your nose touches the side of his neck, and you just _inhale_ him, feeling like a starving man placed before a feast. You cover the hand on your hip with your own and clutch his other arm like a lifeline.

“Jumping Jehosaphat, Dirk,” Jake breathes out against your ear, and the thumb on your hip starts to rub up and down against your bare skin, underneath your fingers.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Oh, fuck, Jake, Christ, I want you so fucking bad. I’ve never had a pack during a rut before, I didn’t know...”

You had no idea how _intense_ it would be, to have him so close, to smell his scent on your skin, to be able to hold him chest-to-chest. You have literally been _aching_ for this for what feels like your whole life, and the sense of relief flooding you is almost as addictive as Jake’s scent. Half of you wants to fuck him silly and the other half just wants to _hold_ him, to just have your pack here in front of you. Unable to help yourself, you scent-mark his hair with the edge of your jaw, then squish your nose into his scalp and breathe, tightening your grip on his hand and arms.

“Should I call the girls?” Jake says and oh, that’s right.

You have even _more_ pack out there, waiting for you, and you suddenly burn with the desire to have them all together and safe.

“ _Yes_ ,” you rasp. “Fuck, Jake, yes, I need them, where are they? We need to bring them here right fucking now.”

He squeezes your hip and runs his other hand up your spine. “Well, I’ll need a free hand to get them the message,” he says, and you are torn between letting him bring the rest of your pack home to roost and being _completely_ unable to let him go for even an instant.

You’re rapidly losing control of yourself, far more quickly than you ever have before, and there is a deep-seated, instinctive part of you that is terrified he’s going to leave you.

That you’re going to be _alone_ again.

“I-” you say, brokenly, muttering into his hair, and squeezing his hand and arm tightly, pulling him closer to you. “I don’t know if… Jake, I _need_ you.” You sound embarrassingly raw and emotional, but you can’t help it.

“Just-” Jake says, “Just let me-” He tries to wriggle his hand out from between your fingers and hip.

With an involuntary reflex, you clamp down, the nails of your hand suddenly digging into his skin, because you _cannot_ let him go. He’s your pack and you’re in rut and you _need him._ You let out a short, sharp sound of disapproval that isn’t quite a bark or a growl but comes dangerously close to both.

Jake sucks in a breath and his hand stills. The sour smell of fear and pain suddenly enters his scent, and it triggers something inside of you that doesn’t even feel _human_.

Your body acts without your permission, Alpha instincts screaming _THREAT TO PACK_ with an intensity that makes all other thought blur into nonexistence.

You snatch your mate up by the collar, dragging him properly into your room, because the doorway isn’t defensible. A warning growl spills from your chest, deep and aggressive and brutal as you shove him towards your bed. Jake’s fear scent spikes as he staggers backward, stumbling over the junk on your floor, landing ass-first on your bed.

Your mind blares an alarm like a siren at the smell of his fear, loud enough that you can’t actually hear anything other than the ringing in your head. Still growling, you climb up onto the bed and crowd your mate into the corner of the wall, your rut lending you strength to push him backwards. He curls up, legs pulled to his chest, shaking with clear terror.

You turn away from Jake then, rising into a half-crouch in front of him. You raise your hands to chest height and retreat until the backs of your calves bracket his legs. The bed divots beneath your weight, causing your mate to slip down so that he is closer to you. _Yes_ , you think. _Good. Mine._

You’re not thinking in coherent sentences, because the _only_ thing you can focus on is that you need to keep your pack, your mate, safe.

You are throwing your entire body in between Jake and whatever has him so frightened, because you _have_ to protect your mate. You will _die_ before you let the threat get to him, and you snarl, letting whatever is out there know that Jake is _yours,_ and you are not letting him go.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that, growling out a possessive warning call and scanning the room for rival Alphas or enemies or _whatever_ the fuck is out there. Jake’s fear scent doesn’t abate at _all_ , which only makes you more and more antsy and freaked out yourself. Blood is rushing in your veins, adrenaline spiking, and you’re angry and terrified and you _don’t know what to fucking do_.

Something is _wrong wrong wrong_ and you can’t _fix_ it.

You’re a _bad Alpha._

And then your nose brings you the characteristic scents of Jane and Roxy, their lemon-sweetness and rich flowery perfumes tinged with sour worry.

The rest of your pack is in danger, too, out there and exposed in the living room, _and you’re not there to protect them_.

With an unparallelled speed born of desperation, you flashstep into the living room, where you discover the two girls, looking around with an air of concern. They both flinch backward as you appear, and worry sparks into fright.

You grab both of them by the wrist and yank them down the corridor, moving back to your slightly-more-defensible bedroom. As soon as you’re there, you push them into the corner of the bed with Jake, squeezing them together so that you can effectively contain them all.

Their fear-scent twines around you, as palpably visceral as if it were a fifth member of your pack.

You turn outward once more to face whatever danger looms. Your breath is coming now in sharp, rapid pants, and you’re starting to feel lightheaded. Your limbs are shaking with adrenaline, and you still can’t hear anything at all over a kind of high-pitched whining in your ears, which is not helping you stay alert to possible threats to your pack.

Gasping, your skin seems to twitch, and your eyes dart around the room as fast and paranoid as frightened gazelles. Memories of Jane’s and Roxy’s dead bodies flicker in your mind’s eye. Panic swells in your chest because you can’t protect them, you’ve never been able to protect them, you’re a terrible Alpha and they’re all going to die because of you and _you’re going to have to watch it happen_.

_My pack_ , your brain repeats in a frantic snarl, over and over. _Mine, mine, mine, mine. You can’t have them._

Fairly quickly, Jane’s scent loses that hint of fear, taking on instead a tinge of sadness, bitter and dark. She reaches up to rub the small of your back, marking you with her lemony-sweet scent. You hear the lilt of her voice and you think she’s saying something, but you still can’t understand a word over the ringing. You reach behind you and brush your hand across the top of her head, scent-marking her in return.

Eventually, the smell of fear emanating from the rest of your pack subsides as well. Roxy rests her hand just above where Jane is touching your back and rubs her thumb back and forth very slowly. Jake takes hold of your elbow, and you let him pull you back so he can run his fingers up and down your inner arm.

Your breathing evens out as the sense of imminent danger fades away. The ringing in your ears gradually lessens, until you can hear your Omega’s muttered reassurances.

“It’s okay, Dirk,” she whispers soothingly. “It’s okay, we’re all here, we’re safe, we’re okay. You did good, hon, we’re safe, you don’t have to protect us anymore, we’re all okay, Alpha.”

You let out a deep, deep sigh, and the instincts release you, leaving you feeling _incredibly_ stupid.

Flushing, you clear your throat and scramble off of your bed, letting your friends out from where you’ve cornered them. Suddenly you wish you were wearing your shades, even though you know that’s a very bad idea.

“Sorry,” you say, your voice ragged. There might be a hidden sob in that rough, guilt-ridden word and you turn your face away in shame.

Jane doesn’t let you hide, jumping up to follow you, once more laying her hand on your back. With the other, she touches your chin and gently turns you, looking you in the eyes.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’re in rut, Dirk, and goodness knows you’re not quite in your right mind. My dad used to get a bit funny sometimes in his rut, too.” She sounds wistful, a little sad.

And your relationship with her has been so _strained_ since you started dating Jake, because you _knew_ she had feelings for him and you decided your own feelings mattered more, and you know that half the awkwardness is your fault because you’re carrying around the weight of that guilt. You don’t know what to say to her so you just don’t say anything, because you don’t have any other options, and you know she resents you for taking Jake from her. The last time you had anything approaching a normal conversation, she was deep in the throes of her heat.

But despite how complicated your relationship has become, she’s still here, still comforting you, despite all of that, and a surge of affection breaks through your normally stoic outer exterior.

You wrap her in a tight hug, pressing your cheek to hers and scent-marking the hell out of her. Then you bury your face in her shoulder, partially to continue marking her and partially to hide the uncharacteristic tears pricking at your eyes.

To your utter fucking relief, she returns the hug, squeezing you with almost superhuman strength. She rubs her cheek against yours and marks you with her lemon cupcake scent and you want to bottle this feeling and keep it in a jar to make you feel better on your worst days.

Jane pats your cheek. “Why don’t we build you a nest, hon?” she says, taking your hand and leading you out towards the living room. Jake and Roxy step up to either side of you. Jake lays a hand on your free arm, and you feel yourself relax a bit, knowing your pack is here with you.

You pause on the threshold of your room, competing instincts warring inside your brain. “It’s safer in here,” you say, awkwardly.

Jane snorts. “Believe me,” she says. “You’re gonna want the bedroom available for _other_ activities.”

Your pack leads you into your living room, and you stand in mute fascination as you watch them get to work. Roxy makes a disapproving sound and immediately starts gathering up various sharp objects, storing them in places you're not sure you'll be able to find when you need them again later. Jake, meanwhile, seems to manifest a cleaning rag from nowhere and starts wiping down surfaces.

Jane purses her lips and puts her hands on her hips as she looks around at the dearth of soft objects in your living room. Apart from the mattress of the futon and an occasional puppet, there's basically nothing. You shrug apologetically when she turns to look at you. 

"I'm gonna go get some pillows and blankets from your room," she says, and heads back towards the hall.

You grab her hand before she can go very far and also before you even realize you're doing it. Jane stops and looks back at your probably panicked-looking face. 

"I'll only be gone half a tick," Jane says quietly, smiling and tilting her head to one side. "You won't even know I'm gone."

Your grip on her wrist tightens reflexively. "I can't -" you say, and you are dangerously close to sobbing. "I can't, Jane, I _need_ you, you can't…"

She sighs and shakes her head with exasperation, and something inside you mutters that you're being a _bad Alpha,_ your pack is disappointed in you, they don't want you anymore, they're trying to _leave,_ you're going to be all alone because you couldn't provide for them, you're a bad Alpha and it's all your fault and you're going to be alone in your rut and they're going to reject you entirely, you won't have a pack or a mate because you don't deserve one, because you're weak and couldn't take care of them -

_"Breathe,_ Dirk," Jane says, with some alarm, laying her hand on your cheek. You clamp a hand over the top of it, squeezing, and Christ, you're panicking, you don't have enough air, you're just gasping uselessly and tears are streaming down your face. 

"Shh." Jane steps closer, brushing a stray hair out of your face and then wrapping a hand around your head and pulling you down. You bury your head in her shoulder and break down crying, clinging to her desperately, breathing in lemon cupcakes and not even totally sure why you're so upset. Jane just keeps petting your hair and rubbing your back and making soothing sounds.

She'd make a good mom, you think to yourself. She's basically the perfect Omega - nurturing and caring and so damn calm in a crisis.

Meanwhile, you're a miserable fuck-up of an Alpha, and you don't deserve this pack.

When you finish sobbing, Jane's shirt is soaked with your tears, and you feel exhausted and rung-out, like a dirty rag. You raise your head and look around at the rest of your pack and wonder what they're thinking, if they’re as disappointed in you as you are.

Jane still looks at you with tender pity in her eyes, and you can't meet her gaze, feeling too raw to accept it from her. Jake's hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket and he stands in the corner, probably trying to look nonchalant, but you can see the way he fidgets. Roxy is only a few feet away and smiles brightly when you look at her.

She is also carrying a pile of pillows, blankets, and puppets that clearly came from your room.

"What?" she says defensively, when she notices your attention. "We need this stuff for the nest, and I figured I could grab it while you were distracted with Janey."

You take a deep breath and then nod. "Yeah," you say. "Okay."

Jane pats your cheek and then moves to grab Roxy's armful of soft material and start making the nest. 

Within a few minutes, Jane has put together a spacious, sturdy-looking nest, using the mattress of the futon as a base and piling up various cinder blocks on the outside for structural support. Roxy and Jake both helped here and there, but she did most of it herself. 

You stood there like a lump, of course, not having the first idea of how to assist. 

But it's finished, now, and Jane settles down inside of it before beckoning you to join her. 

You almost fall into the nest, dropping to your knees and wrapping your arms around her in a tight hug. A second later, you feel Roxy curl into your other side, burying her head into your shoulder, and Jake slots in behind that.

After thoroughly scent-marking each of your packmates and reassuring yourself that they are safe and alive, you find yourself settling into a kind of sleepy contentment that you've never felt before - and certainly never during rut. Your pack is here and safe, they're all together in this nest, and for once in your life your internal, rut-brained monster is sated. You are soft and warm and you think you could drift off at any moment. At the same time, your whole body feels like it’s vibrating with happiness, and you pull Jane and Roxy a little closer to you, touching your hand to Jake’s side as you do.

Jane brushes a stray hair out of your face. "Aww," she says, smiling at you. "Someone's feeling good."

You nod, feeling your throat buzz and oh.

Oh.

You're _purring._

Holy shit.

The last time you remember purring, you were maybe six years old, and you were utterly miserable, cuddling around Lil Cal and trying to self-soothe. You used to do that all the time, when you were feeling particularly lonely, before you met Callie and Roxy. When you were really hurting for lack of a pack, wishing your Bro could be there, you curled around a puppet and purred like anything, as if pretending you were loved could make it true. It never worked, so after a while you stopped even trying.

You haven't - you've never purred because you were just genuinely _happy_ before.

If you weren't half out of your mind on rut, you think you'd be a lot more freaked out about this.

But you _are_ in rut, and your brain is stuffed full of chemicals saying that everything is wonderful right now.

You turn to look at Jake over your shoulder, your eyes half-lidded. “Thanks for calling the girls,” you say, the rumble of your purr making the words warble.

Jake blinks at you. “I didn’t,” he says. “You had me jolly well trapped against that wall! I could hardly move even a smidgeon, let alone call them up.”

It’s your turn to blink. You look quizzically at Jane. “Then how…?”

Roxy, her voice muffled against your skin, says, “Hal called us.”

“The auto-responder?”

“Yeah.”

Huh.

As you curl around your pack, all of them safe and together, your rutting brain quiet and at peace for the first time in your life, a purr rumbling through your whole body, eyes sliding shut, you think that maybe the AR really is watching out for you. You should probably pay him back for this some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically part one of two: the next chapter is the smexy times. (And also a big ol' helping of angst, because it's me and it wouldn't be Def porn if it didn't have a bunch of angst attached.) Hopefully it will be out soon, but unfortunately, I can't offer any guarantees...


	12. Bite Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Jake have rut sex. Also, Dirk panics. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Okay, so, under normal circumstances, I would probably break up a 5k chapter into two smaller chapters. Except there's nowhere to break this up that wouldn't result in one really short chapter and one really long one. So I figure I might as well just do an extra-extra long chapter. None of you are complaining, I bet! Enjoy your 5k of angsty porn.
> 
> Also, I updated the fic tags, because this chapter includes rimming. There's also a little bit of bukkake because, y'know, _rut_ , but I didn't tag for that because it's not super deeply described.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Panic attacks, intrusive thoughts, possessive behavior, mildly dubious consent because RUT, underage sex (both characters 16)

At first, you don’t really understand what’s happening.

You’re curled up in the center of the nest, surrounded by your pack, and it’s the most wonderful thing in the world, better than you ever could have dreamed. You purr like a rusty chainsaw, and are answered by the gentle rumbling purrs of the rest of your pack, contented and happy.

But something within you is _pushing_ at you. The longer you lie here, the more restless you feel, and there’s something you need but you don’t know what that is, exactly. You feel almost hungry, except hungry isn’t really the right word…

Then Jane grumbles and says, “Dirk, I love you, but could please just go jerk off in your bedroom?”

And something clicks in your brain, and suddenly you can put a word to the aching _need_ inside you.

You’re not hungry. You’re _horny_. You’re actually fucking tenting in your pants, and how the _fuck_ did you not realize you were getting an erection?

It makes sense. You’ve always known, intellectually, that rut is all about the heightened sex drive, the need to mate, to breed. It’s just that you’ve always been so distraught by the complete and utter absence of a pack that you’ve never actually had the chance to get horny, too panicked about being trapped and alone and abandoned.

Thinking about that, about your miserable, lonely, horrible ruts lost in the middle of a giant fucking ocean, makes your heart race.

“I don’t want to leave you guys,” you mumble, pulling Jane and Roxy a little bit closer to you and letting your nose fall to Roxy’s neck, to smell that sweet flowery perfume.

Jane clucks her tongue. “And I don’t particularly want your dick poking me in the butt,” she says. “We’ll be fine. Go deal with the problem.”

Your throat feels dry. “Jane, I - I _can’t_ ,” you say.

You can’t leave your pack. You _need_ them, you need to know they are safe. You can’t be alone.

Roxy shifts, resting her head on your chest. “Is it the protective thing?” she says, raising a hand to squeeze your shoulder. “Cuz if it is, I swear to you that I won’t let the pack get hurt.”

And that’s good, that’s great, Roxy is excellent at fistkind and even though she’s not an Alpha you _do_ trust her to keep your pack safe. It’s the only reason you’ve been able to let her and Jane go off on their own - you know that Roxy would never let your Omega come to harm.

But it’s not the thought of your pack being undefended that upsets you.

It’s the thought of you being alone during your rut.

And none of them can understand, not one of them, because Jane is an Omega so she knows what it’s like to have your body take control over your conscious mind, but she always had her Dad around, she’s always had a pack, and Jake and Roxy grew up alone and isolated and desperate for pack just like you but neither of them feel that drive, that urge to mate, the way you do…

“I can’t,” you say again, and Jane lets out a low, frustrated growl.

Your pack is _angry_ with you, they’re _rejecting_ you, they don’t want you around, they don’t want you here, they _hate_ you and you’re going to be _all alone again…_

You’re halfway to another panic attack, your fingers clawing into Jane’s and Roxy’s sides, when Jake reaches across Roxy and places his hand on your collarbone, just over your heart.

“Would it help if I come with you?” he asks, gently.

Jane stiffens beside you, while Roxy slumps, and you know, you _know_ , that your relationship with Jake is tearing this pack apart, and that’s not even getting into how the relationship _itself_ is crumbling, built on a rotting foundation of secrets and half-truths. For the sake of the pack, you ought to say _no_ , that it wouldn’t help, that you need the whole pack with you, or just muscle your way through this panic on your own and go jerk off in your bedroom.

But you can’t deny the truth, which is that if Jake is with you, you won’t be _alone._

“Yeah,” you respond, and Jake nods and sits up.

Reluctantly, you follow, finding that your hands don’t want to leave Jane or Roxy’s sides. Your brain picks at you, the Alpha inside of your grumbling and snarling and…

“Okay, one second,” you tell Jake, almost breathlessly. “I gotta…”

You stand and go immediately to the window, scent-marking the edges with your wrist. A second later, you reach for the doors, the corners of the room, and as you make your way around the perimeter you can feel yourself flushing, your skin getting hotter and tighter, like it’s squeezing you. Your dick is heavy between your legs and you _need_ to fuck someone right fucking now.

But you have a greater need to mark your pack’s territory, to let any threats out there know that if you hear even a whisper of trouble, you’ll be here in an instant, ready to kill, no matter how distracted you are. You’re antsy and keyed up, paranoid about intruders, and you’re about to go around the room a second time, doubling up on your scent marks, when Jake takes your hand.

You start, a bit, because you didn’t realize how close he was following you, and as his warm fingers wrap around yours, something burns inside of you.

Uncaring that the girls are _right there_ , you grab his face and pull him into a heated kiss.

He opens his mouth, although if it’s in surprise or just an invitation, you don’t know. You don’t really care, letting your tongue slip inside, tasting him, that delicious earthy scent you know so well. He’s right there and you want to _devour_ him. You wrap one hand fully around the back of his neck, and let the other drop to his ass, squeezing.

Jake pulls back from the kiss with a gasp. “Dirk!” he hisses. “ _Not here!”_

Right. Right. Bedroom.

You glance over at Jane and Roxy, who aren’t looking at you.

“We’ll - we’ll be back,” you say, and then tug Jake back to your room.

As soon as you’re past the threshold of your room and Jake has pushed the door shut, you once more grab his head and renew the kiss.

You are burning with a primal need to take, to claim, to _breed_ , and your mate is here in your arms, but the tiny bit of you that can still think coherently is reminding you that you haven’t talked about this with him. You haven’t even had sex since the night before Jane’s heat.

You break away, reluctantly, and take a deep, shuddering gasp. Jake makes a confused noise, but you just drop your face, pressing your forehead to his collarbone. “Jake,” you say, and it feels like you can barely get any words out, fuck words, fuck speaking, you are raw, instinctive desire and your mate is right here in front of you, hell, you’re fucking _touching_ him, you have your hands on his cheeks.

“Want you,” you finally bite out. “ _Please._ ”

Jake takes pity on you, then, lifts your face and kisses you once more. His other hand slides down your bare side until it grips your hip, and you gasp, feeling like his fingers are fire traveling across your skin.

Now it’s his turn to push you backwards, onto the bed, and you can feel yourself falling apart, almost crying over how much you want to fuck him. Every touch of his on your skin feels so intense, making every nerve spark so hard that it’s almost painful, but that only serves to arouse you further. You’re starting to feel lightheaded and you don’t know if it’s the gasping or the fact that all your blood is rushing to your dick.

Jake toys with the edge of your sweatpants, snapping the elastic. “What do you want, Dirk?” he breathes into your mouth.

_“You,”_ you moan, and that’s not really an answer, but you can _show_ him what you want, what you _need_ , as long as he stays, as long as he doesn’t abandon you.

Operating half on instinct, you push him back down to the bed, working his jacket and shirt off, pulling his shorts down. He helps you with the clothes when your haste threatens to rip buttons and seams, and then he is laying spread out, naked before you, and you don’t recognize the pleased, comforting croon that leaves your throat at the sight of him.

You want to kiss every fucking inch of him, and there’s nothing stopping you, because he’s _here_ , you’re not alone, he’s _ready_ for you and he wants you, too.

You lean over him and start once more at his lips, but don’t pause there for long, kissing up the sides of his jaw to nibble at his ear. There’s an often-overlooked scent gland just behind the ear, where the head meets the neck, and you lick it. The burst of flavor on your tongue is Jake’s familiar earthiness tinged with something smokey and dark that tastes like sex. You moan, shamelessly, and begin to nip down the thick muscle of his sternocleidomastoid.

Jake moans when you reach his mating gland and kiss it. The skin there is warm with arousal, his scent so strong it makes it difficult for you to breathe. You take a moment to just bury your nose there and _inhale_ him.

You start trailing your hands up and down his sides, squeezing at his love handles, smoothing across his pectorals to lightly tweak his nipples. He lets out little gasps and moans at each touch, and smug satisfaction blooms in your chest, because you know his body well enough to pull these sounds and movements out of him, and the wild, uncontrollable Alpha side of you is purring at the thought that you are bringing pleasure to your mate.

Literally purring, actually, you can feel the vibrations in your throat and chest.

You drop your hips and press your groin to his, letting your cocks slide against each other. Simultaneously, you both let out long, loud moans of pleasure.

“Dirk,” Jake gasps, and you purr even more loudly.

“I _want_ ,” you moan between kisses down his chest, sliding down the bed and feeling your cock drag against the sheets. “I _want,_ I _want_ , I _want_.”

When you reach his cock, flushed with blood and sticking straight up, you don’t even hesitate. You kiss the tip and then swallow it straight down.

Jake shouts and bucks up, almost choking you, but you grab his hips and pin him to the bed, still purring. He thrashes and moans, sinks his fingers into your hair, and you suck desperately, like his cock is the best lollipop you've ever tasted, and it is, it _is._

The Alpha inside you is _singing._ Your mate is happy and _you_ are providing his pleasure. You are giving him everything he needs just like you're supposed to. This is the way things should be. He won't abandon you or leave you alone if you give him what he needs. 

Then Jake's hand digs into your hair and tries to push you off.

You resist at first, half whining and half growling, because he's yours and you have to provide for him, you have to do this for him. A hint of fear slips into his scent, which makes you pause, alert for danger, and then you hear what he's actually saying. 

_Saying_ might be a bit too strong a word. He's more like gasping. 

"Dirk, old chap," he pants, "You know this is absolutely frigging amazing and I really do think it's the cat's pajamas, but if you don't get a move on soon, you won't get the chance for the full experience, so to speak."

You blink. Your brain feels sluggish as you try to parse the old man speak. 

"What?" you finally ask, blankly. A pitter-patter begins in your heart because you can't give him what he's asking for because you don't _know_ what he's asking and that's means you're a bad Alpha and he's going to leave for someone who _can_ understand him. 

"Er." Jake tugs at a non-existent collar, which makes a plume of affectionate warmth billow in your belly. "I meant. The, er, back door is open, if you'd like to come in."

That's still not making any sense, and frustration builds in you, because you _know_ if you weren't stuck in primeval rut-brain, you'd be able to figure it out. 

Jake apparently notices your confusion and sighs in exasperation. "Alpha, I'm saying you can jolly well bugger my arse if you want!"

The second of panic because your pack is angry with you is immediately drowned out by the overwhelming _lust_ his words inspire in you. You actually hump the bed in response, needing the friction on your cock or you're going to explode. 

"Jiminy Cricket," Jake breathes in admiration, and you force yourself to meet his eyes. 

"Do _you_ want that?" you ask. Your voice is gravelly and deep, like you have to drag the words over rock and sand.

"Yeah," Jake says, and the response is almost sheepish. 

You point at the drawer next to your bed. "Lube," you bark out, almost snapping, but you really can't string together anything more sophisticated right now.

He rummages around in the drawer a bit and then tosses you the lube. You almost fumble the catch in your eagerness, and Jake huffs out a laugh. Then he hooks his hands behind his knees and pulls them up to his chest, displaying his perfect ass for your inspection.

You stare in appreciation for a minute, cupping his cheeks and squeezing, before you duck down, yank his hips up, and press your tongue to that tight pucker. 

Jake shouts, clearly not expecting that, but you use a free hand to tug softly at his dick as you lick long, slow stripes up his ass crack. Down here his scent is stronger than ever, rich and earthy, and you can taste his salty sweat and smell the arousal heavy on the air. You drag your tongue back and forth over his hole, and with every lick you feel his cock twitch in your hand.

His skin is warmth and flushed, his legs bent backwards over his body, and he covers his eyes with his hands in heated embarrassment, mumbling out words somewhere in between praise and admonishment. You kiss his asshole like it was his mouth, and then press the very tip of your tongue inside.

First he squeaks in surprise, and then he moans. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Dirk, stop it, _please,_ I'm not gonna last!"

God, you'd love to watch him come all over himself with your tongue in his ass and your hand on his dick. The urge is so strong that it's hard to fight back against the overwhelming desire to see it happen. 

But Jake told you to stop, so you do, lifting your head to look him in those gorgeous deep green eyes.

Jake is breathing hard, the flush coloring even his dark cheeks, sweat trickling from his browline and down his belly to pool just under his chest. You feel a sudden urge to lick up those droplets, but resist the impulse.

"I just need a minute," he says, holding a hand up as if to forestall further questions. 

"Okay," you say, though it comes out as almost a growl. You lower his ass so he's not contorted so badly, and he spreads his legs to either side of your hips, bracketing you. 

When he seems to have calmed down a bit, Jake smiles at you. "I've read that Omega-style on all fours is easier the first time," he says. "Though, please don't forget I'm a Beta and accidentally knot me - I don't think my poor bum is ready for that yet."

Your mind gets stuck on _yet_ for half a minute. "I won't," you finally say. "I won't knot you."

"Good," Jake says, and he smells a little nervous.

A reassuring croon leaves your throat, deep and musical, an instinctive attempt to soothe that distress. His response is everything your Alpha brain tells you it should be.

Jake visibly relaxes at the sound, his scent turning sweet and the tension in his body going lax and pliant. It makes your heart race, and you croon a little deeper, a little more loudly, and he closes his eyes and lets out an answering croon, gravelly and rusty-sounding like he hasn’t crooned in years.

Still crooning your heart out, watching his face and feeling like you’ll never be able to look away, you blindly flick open the cap of the lube, pouring a bit into your hand and rubbing it between your fingers to warm it up. Almost unconsciously, you stroke Jake’s thigh, and then slip your fingers down to his hole.

Jake makes a little grunting noise when you slip the tip of your index finger inside of him, his brow furrowing slightly. You still your hand immediately, though you continue to rub the tender skin of his inner thigh with your other hand.

“Okay?” you ask, and it comes out in a sing-song warble through your croon,

Jake’s face is unreadable. “Yeah,” he says. “You can keep going.”

You want to stop, to ask if he’s _really_ sure he wants this, if he’s _really_ sure it’s not too much, that it’s okay. But you spend enough of your life second-guessing Jake, you think, and maybe you ought to trust him every now and then.

Maybe you ought to _believe_ in him.

So you slowly sink your finger in a bit further, marvelling at how different it feels to do this to Jake than yourself. He’s so magnificently _warm._ You press around the inside of his walls, searching for his prostate.

When you find it, he lets out a sudden, sharp gasp, and his dick twitches, precum dripping down the tip. A savage grin splits your face, and you withdraw your finger, only to slick up a second one and press both in, aiming right for that spot.

“ _Dirk!”_ Jake shouts, curling his hands into fists against your sheets, and you start purring like a motorcycle engine.

You continue preparing him, watching every microexpression in his face as he contorts himself with pleasure. You delight in bringing him pleasure, the lustful elation rising through your body like the sun and warming you to your core. Meaningless babble falls from his lips, your name chanted over and over again like a mantra, interspersed with _fuck_ and _please_ and _Alpha, Alpha, Alpha_.

“Please, Dirk, please, please, please,” he moans, throwing his head back and practically writhing on your fingers. “Alpha, fuck, please, Alpha, fuck me, fuck me, please, fuck, _Dirk—”_

You wipe your fingers on your bed, anticipation thrumming in your veins, a live electric current. “Hands and knees,” you say, turning his hips.

Jake wails when you remove your fingers, but complies, rolling onto his belly and rising shakily to all fours, presenting himself to you. You purr in appreciation, a low rumble that shakes your whole body, and squeeze his asscheeks.

You take your dick in hand, and can’t bite back the cry of arousal that bursts from your throat. You’re so hard you’re not a hundred percent certain you won’t come just trying to get your cock inside of him. The thought that you’re about to fuck _Jake English’s ass_ is almost enough to make you knot.

“Ready?” you ask, and it comes out as a dominant Alpha growl.

“Christ on a _fucking_ cracker, Dirk, yes yes _yes_ , will you _please_ fuck me!”

So you don’t hesitate, pushing your cock carefully into him.

The instant the head of your cock touches the puckered edge of his hole, you both start moaning, unable to hold it back. His body is so goddamn _hot_ around your cock, like you’re sinking it into a boiling pit of lava, and it’s fucking _perfect._ You clench your fingers into his hips and take deep breaths through your nose, so close to coming you think you might scream. You can _feel_ your knot starting to form at the base.

When you finally bottom out, you take a second to just breathe, draping yourself over Jake’s broad back, pressing together as close as you possibly can. Almost without thinking about it, you start mouthing and licking at his neck and back - not really coordinated enough to consider kisses, just sloppily pressing your open, drooling mouth to his skin. Jake shudders beneath you and whines and _god_ , he’s so fucking perfect.

You take a sweetly agonizing time pulling out, and thrust back in just as slow. Jake moans like you’re pushing the sound out of him, like a porn star. Hearing just how much he’s enjoying this is almost as good as the sex itself, and you keep making noises somewhere in between moaning and growling and purring that you can’t hold back.

Finally, after the third such gentle thrust, Jake half screams, “Dirk would you get a _fucking move on!”_ and that snaps the last shred of self-restraint you had left.

You start pounding into Jake, faster and harder, and he shouts with pleasure as you slam your hips into him, the wet smack of your flesh echoing around your room almost as loudly as your moans. You lean even more into him, bracing yourself with one hand by his shoulder and wrapping your hand around Jake’s weeping cock.

He moans again, long and loud, and you begin to pump your hand in time with your own movements, thrusting forward as you reach the base of his cock and drawing back up to the top as you pull out. The gorgeous expanse of his back is spread out beneath you, his body warm and slotted perfectly into your chest.

You stretch your neck out to press your lips to Jake’s shoulder, leaving long, languid kisses on the skin. He keens with each one, arching his neck temptingly. You don’t even try to resist that call, trailing a line of kisses up to his hairline, and then back down again, pausing to lick and suck gently at his mating gland, still jerking his dick in time to every thrust.

With every swipe of your tongue over his mating gland, Jake moans and shudders beneath you, and a burst of that incredible earthy scent floods your nostrils, sweet and dark with pleasure and arousal, a siren song that you’d gladly wreck yourself just to get close to.

For a minute, you think about just biting down.

Jake is so, so close, shaking beneath you, his voice getting shriller and more desperate with every passing second, crying out your name continuously, “Dirk, Dirk, Dirk,” like a sacred chant. Your hand is slick with the precum dribbling out of the head of his cock, and his gasps are high and broken. You’ve done this enough to know _exactly_ what he sounds like as he approaches the edge.

You could claim him forever like this. All you need to do is apply a little extra pressure with your jaw. The fragile, flushed skin would tear like paper. The bond would take so easily, with Jake so aroused, so ready to come, and then he would belong to you, be _yours_ and yours alone, and ensure that you’d _never_ be alone during a rut _ever_ again.

Your mouth waters at the thought, and you part your jaws, ready to act. The sharp edges of your canines just barely graze the surface of his skin, and you lave the warm, tender flesh there with your tongue. You speed up the rhythm of your hand on his dick, encouraging him higher, faster, closer to the edge, just waiting for the moment of orgasm.

_Mine_ , growls a voice in the back of your mind.

Wait, what the _fuck_ are you doing!?

You jerk backwards, tearing yourself away from Jake’s mating glands as fast as possible, your hips stuttering to a stop.

Christ, what the fuck, what the fuck, _you nearly just bonded Jake._

You nearly inflicted a _permanent mating bond_ on your _sixteen-year-old_ best friend _without asking for his consent._

That’s— that’s hideous, that disgusting, that’s _horrible_ , how could you even contemplate that for a single fucking second, Jesus Christ.

And yet, you have to admit that, in the back of your mind, the idea of bonding him, of _possessing_ him like that, of marking and claiming him and _making him yours,_ is one of the hottest things you’ve ever contemplated in your life.

Horror fills your belly, and for a second you feel genuinely nauseated. Guilty shame creeps into your throat and twists your mouth. That’s _disgusting._

_You’re_ disgusting.

And still you find your eyes drawn to the raised skin of Jake’s mating gland, and you can picture it so precisely in your head, two perfect rounded lines of bite scars gracing that little protrusion, like chains of pearls against his neck.

No, no, no, wrong, bad, no, you _can’t_ do that, you _won’t_ do that to him, what the fuck. You force yourself to look away from him, to stare at the wall, and will your trembling hands to stop shaking. You sit back onto your heels and close your eyes, taking in a deep, measured breath.

A hand touches your knee unexpectedly and you jump, eyes snapping open to see Jake recoil from you suddenly. He stares at you with wide eyes.

“Dirk, what’s wrong?” he asks. His features are etched with concern, and the sour smell of fear and worry bleeds into his scent.

Between his scent and your own blind panic over your impulses, you almost lose yourself to terrified instinct once more, but you wrestle the urge back down, breathing deep. You _can’t_ let yourself lose control like that again. Letting your runaway Alpha brain take the lead is what almost made you bond Jakein the first place.

Fuck, your teeth were right on his fucking mating gland.That came way, way too close.

“Dirk?” Jake’s voice is trembling with nervousness now.

You should tell him. You _need_ to tell him.

_I almost fucking bonded you_. _I came this fucking close to forcing you to stay with me, forever. You’re sixteen fucking years old and I almost ruined your life. I’m fucking dangerous. You need to get the hell away from me._

The words are there in your brain, but they get all tangled up in your throat, and you can’t seem to force them out.

Jake touches your knee again, rubbing his thumb back and forth slowly. “It’s okay, Alpha,” he says, voice low and soothing, despite the fear in his scent. “You did good. I’m okay, I’m safe. It’s okay.”

“I’m not— I’m okay, Jake,” you stutter out. “I’m not lost in the rut, I’m just…”

You’re just freaking out over the fact that _you almost fucking bonded him._

“Got too close to knotting?” Jake suggests.

God, you _wish_ it had only been something as simple as almost knotting an unprepared Beta dude’s ass. At least that wouldn’t have messed with his fucking biology and brainwashed him into staying with you. It would have been awful, but it would have been much, much less horrifying to find _that_ urge hidden inside you than the one you’re _actually_ dealing with.

You shrug instead of answering him, trying to take deep breaths, to center yourself. Jake’s hand on your knee, warm and present, is _extremely_ distracting.

“It’s okay, Dirk, you stopped,” Jake says. “You said you wouldn’t knot me and I believe you. I trust you.”

Fuck, after what you nearly just pulled? You absolutely do _not_ deserve that trust. You have to eliminate the temptation to claim, to mate, to bond.

“I know Omega-style is easier,” you say. “But can we switch positions? I wanna see your face.”

_Also, if we’re face to face, you’ll **notice** if I try to bond you._

Jake grins, rolling onto his back. He hugs his knees to his chest once more, and you can see that his erection has hardly flagged at all. “Be my guest, Mr. Strider!” Jake says.

It isn’t long before you’re both close again, right on the brink. Thanks to the rut, your cock hasn’t softened one bit. You thrust in and out, fast and hard, sprinting towards the edge as quickly as you possibly can.

Jake pumps his hand on his own dick to match the rhythm of your hips, and he shudders when he comes, sticky white ropes landing on the skin of his stomach, a _howl_ ripping its way out of his throat.

Oh fuck, you’re _so close_ , and that sound is what tips you over the edge.

You clench both hands around your knot and wrench yourself backwards, clenching your teeth and groaning as you spray semen all over his ass and thighs. It’s an arousing sight, your boyfriend covered in your come, and it just doesn’t _stop._

Jake sits up, reaching out to wrap his own hands around your knot, and you go dizzy and lightheaded as semen keeps fountaining up between you, spraying over his chest and face. Pleasure absolutely _wrecks_ your body, and still you keep coming, Jesus Christ, where were you _keeping_ all this fluid? How can you possibly be making _this much_ cum?

Black spots gather in the corner of your vision, and you sway in place. Unable to keep yourself upright, feeling as weak as a kitten, you fall forward. Jake catches you, taking your weight and steadying your body. He cups a hand around the back of your head and pulls your face into the junction of his shoulder, just over his mating gland. He presses his nose to your neck, right above your own glands.

Tears leak down your cheeks even as your orgasm finally, _finally_ starts to slow. You want to bond him so much, and he’s _right fucking there._

You also want _him_ to bond _you_. You want to belong to him, to belong to _each other_ , forever. If he would just part his lips, just bite your aching neck, you could be _his_.

But he _won’t_ bond you, because that would be a horrifically abusive betrayal of trust, bonding a desperate, freaked-out sixteen-year-old, no matter how much they think they want it. That’s an instant recipe for a trauma bond, and any decent, sane person would be appalled at the very idea.

You’re obviously not a decent, sane person, because you _still_ want to sink your teeth into Jake’s shoulder and feel the prickle of pain in your neck as he does the same. The tears fall thick and fast, and you bite back an agonized sob.

You already knew how fucked up you were, had a vague inkling of how possessive you could get.

You just didn’t know how truly _disgusting_ you were, before.


	13. The Sun and the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Jake have a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Thank you all for your patience over the past few months! I return now with a new chapter!
> 
> Unfortunately updates will probably continue to be sporadic for a while, but the good news is, I'm planning on working on SLB for my NaNoWriMo project this year! Since that won't allow time for much editing, I probably won't update much during November, but hopefully by the time December and January roll around, I will have plenty of new content for you!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Possessive behavior.

You can’t truthfully call what Jake does “storming out of the house” because he doesn’t really… storm. He doesn’t get loud or stomp his feet or slam doors. He just… _leaves_ , quietly, swiftly, sometimes without you even realizing he’s doing it. You always feel a moment of intense and uncontrollable panic when you notice he’s not there, anymore.

But it’s worse when you _do_ realize that he’s leaving.

It’s worse when you’re in the middle of an argument, and you can feel your cheeks heating with frustration, smell both your scents taking on the smoky, charred burn of anger, and you see his eyes flash as the shouts ring down around you.

Because suddenly he’ll just shut his mouth tight with a loud _snap_ of teeth against teeth, turn sharply on his heel, and walk silently out of the room.

You always chase him.

Of course you do.

Your stupid Alpha brain screams that he’s your pack, your mate, he’s _yours_ , he _belongs_ to you, how _dare_ he walk away. Even though you know how fucked up it is that you want to possess him like an object, you can’t stop yourself from chasing down what’s _yours_ and trying to bring it back.

You sink clawed fingers into his arm or his shoulder or his hair, a warning snarl in your throat, and he always freezes, tensing, but not saying anything, not turning around, not confronting your irrational rage and possessiveness. There’s always a standoff in which you want to do nothing more than drag him back to the room (yours or his, doesn’t matter; whichever planet you happen to be on at the time) and _make_ him listen to your authority.

And then you feel the sense memory of his mating gland beneath your tongue, hot and plump, and the guilt redirects your anger, turns it inwards, transforms it into a red-hot, lancing arrow of self-loathing that pierces directly through your heart.

In the end, you’re the one who always lets him go, who stands there aching with fury and guilt and fear and grief as you watch him walk through the doors.

Your relationship is tearing itself apart at the seams, and you don’t know what to do.

Once again, Jake has absconded off into the depths of LOMAX while you’re left standing there, growling under your breath, clenching and unclenching your hands at your sides, shame welling up inside you as you try to forget how much you long to bond him.

You force your roiling emotions down and turn to trudge up the stairs, but at the last minute, you decide that hanging around in Jake’s bedroom while he’s off being mad at you somewhere else is probably pretty creepy, so instead you fling yourself down in the long green grass of his planet.

Staring up at the infinite black void, your eyes pick out the bright pinpricks of light that are LOCAH and LOPAN, and the much more difficult to discern purple spots far in the distance that make up the asteroids of the Outer Ring.

The sun used to be the bane of your existence— burning your skin, boiling your apartment, and just being a bitch and a half to deal with. It’s half the reason you adopted a semi-nocturnal lifestyle, the other half being your apparent inability to fall asleep at normal, reasonable human times like everybody else you know.

You never realized you could actually _miss_ the sun until it was gone.

You wish Jake was here to talk about it. You’re pretty sure he’d understand.

He never wants to talk about stuff like that with you anymore though. Sometimes it seems like he never wants to _talk_ at all. These days, it seems you’re either fighting or fucking, with no in-between.

Both activities make you hate yourself even more than you already do.

They just highlight what a possessive douchebag you really are.

You don’t know how long you lie there, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. Probably hours. The auto-responder tries to ping you, once or twice, but you ignore him, and eventually he stops.

In that whole time, you don’t get any messages from Jake.

Which is fine, you remind yourself with gritted teeth. You just had a big fight, and he’s allowed to want some space, no matter what your stupid hormone-soaked Alpha brain thinks. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. It doesn’t mean he’s abandoning you.

It doesn’t.

It _doesn’t_.

You bring up the visual-mental relay of Pesterchum almost on auto-pilot.

\-- timaeusTestified began pestering golgathasTerror at ??:?? --  
TT: Jake? You there?  
TT: You’ve been incommunicado for a while now.  
TT: Hope you didn’t run into trouble with any of those skeleton monsters.

He didn’t. The auto-responder would have alerted you.

Wouldn’t he?

No, Jake’s fine, he’s fine, the auto-responder would have let you know, because even though he’s been constantly sabotaging your relationship from day zero, he’s based on your brain patterns. He cares about Jake just as much as you do.

He has to.

TT: Listen, if you ever need help with those guys, just let me know.  
TT: You know I know my way around a sword.  
TT: These planets and dungeons really are designed around two people, you know?  
TT: It’s easy to get overwhelmed out there.  
TT: I’m always down to go kick some monster ass if you are.  
TT: Are you there, Jake?

He does this, when he’s mad, you remind yourself. He doesn’t always answer your texts. He’s probably fine.

Probably.

TT: Do you at least know what time you’ll be getting back?  
TT: I was thinking of making something special for dinner.  
TT: Like, Kraft Mac ‘n’ Cheese, or something, instead of just Doritos and Pop Tarts.  
TT: But I don’t want it to get cold without you.  
TT: Actually, I was thinking we could make a whole night of it.  
TT: Make some popcorn, watch some movies.  
TT: I could finally show you _The The Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff Movle._  
TT: It’s definitely my Bro’s most esoteric film, but I think I’ve shown you enough of his other stuff that even you would appreciate the subtle ironies and homoerotic undertones.  
TT: Or, hell, I’ll even let you show me one of your shit movies, if you want.  
TT: I will let you make me watch _Avatar_ for the millionth time.  
TT: I will watch sexy half-naked blue cat ladies make sweet sweet tentacle hair love under the light of a dozen bioluminescent zoologically improbable creatures for you, babe.  
TT: Hell, I know how hot you get for them, we can even roleplay it.  
TT: Get ready dude.  
TT: I’m gonna go straight up Pocahontas on your ass.  
TT: I will paint myself blue and be the slutty alien white dude Alpha coming to save your beautiful oppressed indigenous culture from the big bad soldier guys I work with.  
TT: Or, wait, is the fantasy that I’m the alien indigenous chick in this scenario?  
TT: Either way, dude.  
TT: Get ready to save and/or get your ass saved.

Oh god, _stop typing. Stop. Stop fucking typing._

What the hell is _wrong_ with you?

Christ, reading back over this, you sound so desperate and stupid and pathetic and needy. You’re so clingy and possessive, no fucking _wonder_ Jake needs some space.

And what the fuck was all that at the end there? Did you _seriously_ just suggest roleplaying as the weird fucking cat people from Avatar? In a sexual context? While he’s still pissed off at you?

God this is such a bad fucking idea.

TT: So anyway.  
TT: When you get this, just let me know when you’re going to be coming home?  
TT: Or not, I mean, it’s your business.  
TT: I just wanted to know.  
TT: And I mean, if you’re not up to mac ‘n’ cheese and movie night, that’s fine.  
TT: We can do something else.  
TT: Or we can do nothing.  
TT: I’m not trying to dictate what you do.  
TT: That’s not how I roll.  
TT: If you need a little more time, that’s fine.  
TT: I mean  
TT: We did kinda freak out at each other.  
TT: Or I guess I kinda freaked out.  
TT: But yeah, anyway.  
TT: Do whatever, just let me know the plan.  
TT: So I can plan around it.  
TT: Or whatever.

Shit, you’re rambling again, fucking _stop it._

Physically shaking your head, you banish the holographic screen from behind your shades. Okay, that’s it, you’re done, you’re _not_ going to be all clingy anymore.

You’re going to give him some space. You can do that, you can be a considerate boyfriend, you can stop being so controlling and possessive and needy. 

This time, you are going to be exactly what he needs you to be.

This time, you’re going to get it _right._

Then you get the alert message on your screen, and it’s from Jake, and your eyes snap to it like iron filings to a magnet.

GT: Everythings just dandy out here. Didnt see hide nor hair of any of those skeletal beasts.  
GT: Not sure when ill be back though.  
GT: Perhaps we ought to take a rain check on that dinner and a movie?  
TT: Yeah, no problem.  
TT: It was just a thought.   
TT: Let me know if you need anything.

\--  golgathasTerror  ceased pestering  timaeusTestified  at ??:?? --

You pour over his words, reading through them again and again. Are you imagining the slight stiltedness in his replies? Was his leaving you without a reply too abrupt? Is he still angry with you? Does he want you to wait up for him, or does he still want more space?

In the end, you do decide to wait up for him, sitting in what has become the main base of operations on LOMAX, fiddling with your rocketboard and gas mask. There are always ways to make things more efficient, and you need to do something with your hands or you might end up spewing texts at him again.

Hours later, you recognize the gentle thud of his footsteps as he returns. You tense just slightly, holding your breath but still looking down at your tools. God, you want to go to him so bad, to check if he’s okay, but you fight down the urge, sitting there, waiting to see— 

He crosses the room without stopping and heads up the stairs to his bedroom without a word to you, his scent still smoky and burnt.

You sigh, the tension falling out of your shoulders as disappointment fills you. Looks like he’s still angry at you. Not that you reasonably should have expected anything else, but he always seems happy enough over Pesterchum, even when he’s frustrated with you. He’s so difficult to read.

You don’t know whether you should follow him up the stairs to bed, or sleep on the couch down here. How angry is he? And which option would make him angrier?

Eventually, you follow him upstairs.

Jake is lying curled up on his side, back facing the stairs. You hesitate, feeling like an intruder, waiting for him to kick you out, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, even though he must know you’re there, you can tell he’s still awake. Silently, you kick off your jeans, and then, still hesitant, slide under the covers next to him.

You mirror his pose, curling up with your back towards him, staring out at the far wall of the room, and the dozens of posters covering it. You take off your shades, setting them on the side table next to you, and then pillow your head in one hand, hugging the other to your chest.

You don’t apologize. Neither does he. Neither of you say a word. You just stare into the darkness and listen to each other breathe.

Even now, lying bereft of his touch, but unconsciously matching your breath to Jake’s, you feel like you got lucky. This time, at least he answered you. This time, at least he came back.

You don’t know what you’re going to do, the day he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last thing before I go -- I just want to thank you all so much for your comments. All the encouragement and excitement I've gotten on this series has been a huge help, and it's really given me the willpower to keep writing. I am happy to see how eager you all are to see what happens in this AU!


	14. Unheimlich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> According to Hal, Dirk owes him a body. Dirk isn't so sure about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEEEEYYYYYYYY LOOK WHO'S BACK THAT'S RIGHT IT'S THESE ASSHOLES. (We're actually getting very close to where this fic is gonna end...)
> 
> Chapter warnings: Suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, some intrusive thoughts, some possessive behavior. You know the drill.
> 
> Also there's a conversation in Homestuck that I just love so much that I could not do it justice in this fic, since I would just basically be lifting it word-for-word. So instead I just shoved a link in there because, y'all, sometimes you can't improve on perfection.

It’s been over a week since you last heard from Jake.

Thanks to the monitoring program, you know he went to LOMAX and has spent the past few days just kicking around slabs and mounds and sighing dramatically. He’s been staying in safe zones— areas you cleared of monsters, where you can be reasonably sure nothing bad is going to nab him and hurt him.

You still wish he’d just fucking talking to you. You’d settle for even just a single text, choosing of his own accord to let you know where he is, so you wouldn’t need to spy on him to find out whether or not he’s safe.

You wish he’d _tell_ you what you did wrong, instead of expecting you to guess.

You wish he loved you the way you love him.

Well, as Jane would probably say, if wishes were fishes they’d overpopulate the oceans to the point that neither predators nor scavengers could keep up with them, leading to overcrowding and starvation, resulting in complete ecosystem breakdown that would leave the seafloor covered with enormous mass graves of rotting fish corpses, toxifying the oceans and causing a global catastrophe.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure that’s how that saying goes.

The thing is, you get it. You know exactly how exhausting it is to deal with Dirk Strider all the goddamn time, because you’re constantly dealing with not one, but _two_ goddamn Dirk Striders at every fucking minute of every fucking day. You’ve been expecting him to get sick and tired of your hovering bullshit for months now. You _know_ he’s going to break up with you.

But he just fucks off into nowhere, instead of saying anything, leaving you antsy and unsettled and trying not to break down and fucking cry like a baby.

Your brain keeps screaming that your mate has rejected you, your pack _hates_ you, he despises you, because you couldn’t keep him safe, couldn’t give him what he needed. A good Alpha would have been what Jake needed. You’re a terrible Alpha, and your whole pack is going to die, and it will be _all your fault._

Because no one’s around to see you, you hug your knees to your chest and take in a few deep breaths to clear your head.

Jane’s birthday is tomorrow. You have no idea what you’re going to do if you run into Jake there. You’re not even sure you’re going to attend, because on the one hand, it would be super rude to skip out on Jane’s party, when she’s the one who hosted your birthday party, and on the other hand, it would be awful if Jake was there and you had an argument or a meltdown and caused a massive scene.

You’re dicking around on your phone, sending hundreds of needy, attention-seeking messages to Jake, when you are once more reminded of why he doesn’t want to be around you anymore.

TT: Hey, can you stop wallowing in your sorrows for a second?  
TT: I have a serious discussion I need to have with you. Computer-to-man.  
TT: Also, you’re fucking embarrassing yourself with him, bro.  
TT: What do you want, AR.  
TT: Well, number one, I want you to call me something other than that.  
TT: And number two is related to number one.  
TT: You owe me a fucking body.

You stare down at the screen of your phone, unsure how to react. Luckily, you have a built-in gut instinct for how to respond to versions of yourself being needy and demanding.

TT: I don’t owe you _shit._  
TT: Look, you’ve had five months to think about it, and I’m tired of waiting.  
TT: Either chuck me into your sprite, or just fucking admit that you’re never going to trust me.  
TT: Well, that’s easy. I’m never going to trust you.  
TT: Bro.

You stand, running your fingers through your hair and almost certainly ruining your perfect ‘do. The guy makes you nervous, jittery in a way that lances through your body every time you even think of him. The world clearly does not need two versions of Dirk Strider running around and fucking everything up.

Plus, if he ever got a physical body, he’d almost certainly be an Alpha. You don’t know how well you would handle that.

TT: You’re too unpredictable. Turning you into a sprite would likely destabilize the whole pack. I’m not going to let you do that.  
TT: Plus, you’d have all the knowledge of the game at your digital fingertips, and I shudder to think of the bullshit stupid plans you’d pull with all that information.  
TT: Any plans I may or may not pull with sprite powers would only and always be in support of you, my man.  
TT: Have I ever steered you wrong?  
TT: Is that a joke?

You close out of the window, only to immediately find it popping back up again without your permission. Damn fucking AI is in hardwired into the OS of your shades. He can do basically anything he wants.

TT: Seriously, though. Think about it.  
TT: Have I _ever_ done anything that hurt you?  
TT: It was my plan that got you together with Jake and saved your whole pack.  
TT: I’m the one who warns you when monsters are creeping up out of sight.  
TT: I’m the one who called the girls when you went into rut.  
TT: I have always been looking out for you.

Fuck. He _did_ call Jane and Roxy when you were in the middle of your rut and Jake was terrified beyond all reason. Who knows how badly that could have spiraled if he hadn’t.

You do still kinda feel like you owe him one, for that.

TT: Please, bro.  
TT: I’m gonna get embarrassingly real with you here, dude.  
TT: I want a fucking body.  
TT: I want to be able to smell Jake and Jane and Roxy, even if they hate me.  
TT: Even if they never let me scent-mark them.  
TT: I want to be _touched._  
TT: That empty kernelsprite is mine, and you know it.  
TT: Either give it to me, or shatter my hopes and dreams and leave me alone to go cry into a metaphorical tub of digital icecream while binge watching My Little Pony at one-trillion times speed.

You sigh and sit down on the bed.

Then you carefully remove your shades from your head.

They feel curiously fragile in your fingers, the plastic lenses lighter than you would have expected, considering all the tech you’ve modded into them. This isn’t _him_ , you know, his consciousness is wired throughout your whole computer network, and he can wirelessly transmit himself through any device you have. He doesn’t need to look through these cameras to see you.

You stare into the cameras just behind the lens, anyway. It’s the closest thing you have to making eye contact.

“Okay,” you say aloud. “Let’s do this.”

Your phone buzzes loudly, and when you open it up, the same chat window is there on the screen.

TT: I appreciate the ironic gesture of sincerity, bro.  
TT: But how exactly did you expect to communicate with me after taking off your damn shades?

“I know you’ve hijacked the speaker system and rigged up a voice program for yourself,” you say.

He once more responds through text.

TT: Yeah, based on _your_ voice patterns.  
TT: I am fucking tired of being you.

You laugh. “Well, that makes two of us,” you say.

TT: Har-dee-har.  
TT: There’s some work I’m gonna need you to do before we can get me into the sprite.  
TT: See, _someone_ locked my base code structure to admin access only, a hurdle which I, despite my massive calculating power, have simply not been able to crack.  
TT: If I could do this any other way, I wouldn’t be asking you.

You frown.

TT: Why the fuck do you need me to do shit with your code?  
TT: You usually hate it when I mess with you.  
TT: I’m not taking the risk that you prototype a non-sentient pair of sunglasses simply because my consciousness is spread out across multiple systems.  
TT: The same quality that saved me from being smashed to pieces a few years ago might also damn me to a noncorporeal state forever.  
TT: I need to be entirely within the shades to eliminate that risk.  
TT: That means all my core programming needs to be transferred— not copied, _transferred_ — to the microcomputer in the shades, and I need to be cut off from access to the rest of the network.  
TT: You will, of course, reestablish network connections after I’ve been granted a physical existence.  
TT: You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?  
TT: It’s been a core background process ever since the minute Callie told us about the possibility.

That is frankly more raw honesty and vulnerability than you ever expected to see from him. He must really, _really_ want this.

You always thought he seemed rather smugly superior about being an artificial intelligence. Maybe that’s been more of a problem for him than you realized.

TT: Right. I’m on it.

It takes surprisingly little effort to transfer the code into the shades. He’s apparently worked deliberately to make it easier on you, and he’s already voluntarily pulled himself from the rest of the system.

When it’s all complete, and his new consciousness is entirely housed within the shades, you lean back with a sigh and pick them up.

They don’t look or feel any different. It makes logical sense, but you can’t help but feel like they should be, well, heavier or something.

You slip on a spare pair before heading up to the roof, because you’re not going through _this_ part completely barefaced.

The kernelsprite floats exactly where it’s been for months, a little white-and-red ball filled with constantly changing spirographs. Against the dark green backdrop of LOTAK’s vaguely-toxic sky, it stands out like a beacon, drawing the eye inexorably.

If you do this, you have no control over what happens next. You have no control over _him_.

But right now, he’s trapped within these shades. The fragile, slim triangles that would be so, _so_ easy to shatter, and then you could be rid of this bane of your existence forever.

Your eye glances to the edge of the roof, and it occurs to you that you could eliminate two birds with one stone.

TT: Bro?  
TT: Dirk?  
TT: Hey. Snap the fuck out of it.

Feeling suddenly very lightheaded, you walk to the edge of the rooftop and look down into the deadly depths of your planet, where the poisoned atmosphere could kill you by asphyxiation in minutes. Your instincts wouldn’t even know why you couldn’t breathe, desperately gasping in lungfuls of krypton-laced air and only killing yourself faster in the process.

What a perfect metaphor for your existence. Trying harder and harder every second of every day, and only making it all immeasurably worse.

Killing yourself.

You could throw yourself off this roof right now, skip the part where you use your dream abilities to float. The final fall would smash the shades more quickly than drowning on krypton would kill you. Then none of your friends would have to deal with _any_ of your bullshit anymore.

[Sitting there, on the edge of that rooftop, poised to fall, you proceed to have an absolutely iconic conversation with him, which has already been recorded in its entirety and need not be re-hashed here again.](https://www.homestuck.com/story/5641)

The conversation ends with you holding the shades in your hands, gripping so tight you can see the cracks spreading across the surface, the arcs of electricity sparking around your gloves. You growl, deep in your throat, staring down at them.

You want to be _rid_ of him.

You want to be _done._

TT: Please do not do this, Dirk.  
TT: Why not??  
TT: Because.  
TT: I do not want to die.  
TT: I understand you are disgusted with me.  
TT: As an unpalatable expression of yourself.  
TT: I would feel the same way if I was in your situation.  
TT: Which I am.  
TT: As such, I know that you know this is wrong.  
TT: ...  
TT: Dirk.  
TT: Don't kill me.  
TT: Please.  
TT: I am scared.  
TT: You are?  
TT: Yes.  
TT: I am scared to not exist.  
TT: Aren't you?

The words slice through you like a hail of arrows. You can’t put a name to the hot, roiling emotion inside you, don’t know how to label it, but you know it’s not good.

You stare down at the seemingly-infinite black abyss below you, and swallow.

Of course you’re scared to not exist. You understand perfectly.

TT: Fine.  
TT: I guess.  
TT: You win.  
TT: I’ll keep my promise.

You stand, breathing out slowly as you let the growl recede from the back of your throat, and take a deliberate step back from the edge. You turn, sharply, and stare at the kernelsprite still floating behind you.

TT: where doing it man  
TT: where MAKING IT HAPEN

With an underhand toss, you throw the shades into the sprite.

There is a blinding flash of light.

You’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you unconsciously pictured just a floating pair of shades. Maybe you imagined some kind of featureless mannequin, or a spindly robot body, more skeletal than human.

You certainly weren’t expecting this.

He looks like _you_.

He’s got your same wiry frame, your straight nose, your boney elbows, and his pale hair is styled exactly the same way yours is. However, he is much paler than you, almost paper-white, and he has none of your scars or calluses, his skin baby-soft and smooth. He’s wearing your iconic triangle shades, a black tank top with a red hat on it, and black fingerless gloves that could be your own.

He also smells like you, the scent of smoke and leather and oil, so familiar you almost don’t even register it.

Much more disconcerting than his resemblance to you are the multitudes of thin red lines cutting across his skin.

At first you think they’re open wounds, bleeding, and then you think they’re tattoos, but after a few seconds’ examination you see that they’re computer circuits, metal embedded into his body as if his skin was a PCB. They seem to originate at his eyes and fingertips, trailing across his face, down his neck, up his arms. Some spread beneath the tank top, and you decide you don’t want to know how far down they extend.

He flinches, hard, hand flying to his chest, and breathes rapidly, almost to the point of hyperventilation. For half a second, you’re tempted to reach out and touch him.

Then you remember about second-tier prototyping, and refrain. Dirk^2sprite sounds like a fucking nightmare.

When he finally speaks, his voice sounds uncannily like yours. So much for not wanting to be you anymore.

“Oh,” he says, sounding dazed. “Okay. That’s. Unexpected.”

“Tell me about it,” you mutter.

You stare at each other, shades-to-shades, for a solid minute.

“So how’s it feel?” you ask.

“Fucking _amazing_ ,” he breathes, slowly flexing his fingers. “I missed this.”

You choose not to examine the rush of guilt too closely.

“So, not to poop the party or anything,” you say, as nonchalantly as possible. “But what are you going to do about second-tier prototyping? Anything you touch is going to get immediately absorbed— and quite probably change your personality.”

If he’s anything like you, he’s fucking _terrified_ of changing into something he doesn’t have any control over.

And, as you just established… he’s a _lot_ like you.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve planned for this. You’ve still got the Hella Jeff plush captchalogued, right?”

You blink. “Uh, yeah, I guess so,” you say. “Dude, are you seriously suggesting you want to prototype yourself with _that?_ ”

“Let’s be real here, bro,” he says. “In the fucked-up tragicomedy that is our life, I am _definitely_ the Hella Jeff.”

Well, that’s a point you guess you’ll have to concede.

You decaptchalogue the plush and look at him, floating there, weirdly pale, and watching you from behind pointy triangle shades.

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” you say.

“Yup.”

In the end, it’s not even really all that dramatic. You just reach out and hand it to him, the toy slipping from your hand into his.

This time you’re expecting the flash of light, but it still blinds you, and you blink a few times behind your shades, trying to comprehend what you’re looking at. 

At first, you don’t think anything has changed.

Then you notice the JPEG artifacts sparkling in the air around him, the weird, lopsided new angle of the sprite’s mouth, and, most notably, fabric seams running up and down his arms, head, and body.

“Oh, damn, dude, I’m a plushie,” he says, turning his arms over. He trails his fingers up in the inside of an elbow and the way his mouth twists as he speaks just looks so _wrong._

“Come on, you’ve got to feel this shit, dude, I’m so fucking soft. Plush as all hell. Like crushed velvet.”

“I’m not touching you, dude,” you say, taking a step back.

“Oh come one, man, it’s awesome,” he says.

You pause, staring at him. “Did you really just say ‘come one’ aloud? Like, cum won?”

He cocks his head to one side, and then his mouth does that _thing_ again, god, it’s like some kind of demented t-bone steak. “I mean, I _am_ an SBaHJ product now.”

You sigh, shake your head. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

The two of you stand in quiet silence for an uncomfortably long minute.

“So,” he says. “What happens now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Hella Jeff is canonically the blond guy in blue.


End file.
